


the Pages we write

by tenecty



Series: the King and his Guard [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Mild Smut, read at own risk as things can be a little dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-12 04:07:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 40,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16865842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenecty/pseuds/tenecty
Summary: Mark has a tough past, a tainted background. A spoiled gem.But who he is, is not in the scribblings of the pages before, written by others. Who he is, lies in the pages he writes, for himself.And maybe, with a little help from his annoying, pesky, but cute little bodyguard, Lee Donghyuck.





	1. 3811 PAGES FROM BEFORE

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write this fic to just highlight a couple of things: the reality of gangs (and not how romanticised it is by fics and movies), the kind of abuse child soldiers/child labourers go through as well as the effects of ptsd, whilst at the same time inserting some humour, to show that while all may seem lost, and the future may seem dark and bleak (if there is even one), keep strong and find strength to learn how to laugh again. Don’t give up! :)
> 
>  
> 
> the prequel to this story is [Please, stay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16711855/chapters/39196159) , a Johnten fic
> 
>  
> 
> hmu on [tumblr](https://tenecity.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/tenecty)  
> and ask me questions on the characters, plot or anything on my [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me) !

**ONE—** **——** **3811 THE YELLOWED PAGES FROM BEFORE**

 

He is only six; what is he supposed to do? But he is very clever, and very obedient, his mother compliments, as she soothes him in her shaky voice, fingers fumbling as they clip a pin to the underside of his robes. She strokes his hair as she pulls him close, closing her eyes as she breathes in deep, smoke filling her lungs. Mark has his hands over his ears, eyes wide as he watches his mother’s panicked filled face when the burning door is knocked down. 

He is wrenched from her grasp, thrown to aside while tall, burly men shout. Their accents are heavy, and he can’t make sense of it, but he watches quietly as they beat his mother. He is always taught, to keep quiet.  _ Swallow your tears _ , his mother always says.  _ Don’t let others feed on your sorrow.  _ That is what she does, silently taking it all, even having the strength to shoot him one last smile, before blood foams at her mouth, and she lies limp at the feet of her murderers. 

“What about the boy?” A man shouts over the flames. Mark watches them, not moving, not saying anything, fear coursing through his body. 

A man with a one eye patch barely throws him a glance. “Take him outside; we’ll decide later. Let’s get out of this filthy house first.” 

****  
  


He is carried roughly, out of the burning house, to the cold winter snow. Snowflakes whirl around them, indicating an approaching storm, but none of the perpetrators are concerned, pumping their fists in the air as they watch  _ his _ home burn to the ground. 

He is roughly grabbed by his hair, and falls face first into the soft snow. Yet, no tears come, and he bites his tongue to avoid the screams of pain threatening to erupt as they roughly pull him up, and shove him to kneel. 

“Interesting, this one.” Someone says harshly, stroking the young face with the tip of his hot knife, coated with the blood of his father, mother, and god knows who else. 

Another man hums in agreement. “He doesn’t cry. How old are you, child?” 

Mark holds up his hands. One, two, three, four, five, six. Six. 

“Can you not speak?” The man demands harshly, the tip of the dagger grazing just a centimeter deeper into his cheeks. 

“Six, sir.” Mark says quietly, head bowed, eyes trained on the snow capped floor, hands tightly clasped in front of him. The position of submission. He learnt this, also, from his mother. She told him, while peeling the skin of potatoes and carrots, that when you assume this position, you are more likely to survive, and earn favour. 

****  
  
  
  


Hence why the people, who he later found out to be The Red Rubies, a gang that was a core part of the rebellion, would keep him alive. When he was younger, he was used to run errands, do the cooking, scrubbing the floors. Not once, did Mark complained, and hence why they all approved of him, keeping him alive, year after year. 

It is not a common practice for gangs to do so; always, their hostages will find revenge that leads to downfall. But Mark, shows no signs of retaliation. And perhaps, rightly so, since he became the favourite of the leader, the one eyed patch man.

It is not that Mark had no rage boiling in him; he did, but he learnt, whilst watching a member of the gang burn at the stake, that it is better to keep quiet, then resist and go against the ruling leaders. 

To survive, one has to observe and keep quiet. Tigers always wait between the trees for the right opportunity to pounce; Mark too, learned that he should simply wait for the opportunity, rather than chase after it. 

****  
  
  


Mark is a smart boy; he learnt the ropes quickly. 

He knew how to avoid the main roads that were subject to regular inspections. He knew how to con the traders. He knew how speak sweetly and quietly exchange the drugs for a few coins of gold. He learnt how to lead the group to raid a village: how to not leave trails behind, burn everything to the ground, and take the women and children, commodities to sell. 

Everyone around him did the same, and though sometimes, he thinks he is losing himself, he would prick himself with the pin of a tiger that his mother gave him, the shedding of blood enough to remind him of who he is. 

He is the son of the noble family of the Lees, raided by the very people who now house him and who he works for, commiting the crimes his father worked hard all his life, to eliminate. Mark never cries, but his heart twists, when he sees a child, six years old, torn away from his parents and thrown into a cage, auctioned the next day. He turns his face away, suppressing the bitter taste of bile in his throat. He cannot disobey. 

****  
  


He learnt this, by watching one too many times, of hostages such as himself, raise a dagger at the leaders. One such boy, a brave one, named Na Jaemin, had had enough. He had gone on his knees in the main house, their master seated boredly on the intricately designed wooden chair, Mark standing next to him, trying hard to keep his neutral facade, without it twisting unpleasantly.

  
“Please, master. Spare them of the suffering! This is wrong. We too, are humans, how can we sell them? How can we burn their houses and break families? Why must we be cruel?” The boy cries as he asks these questions. Mark is urging him in his heart, to keep quiet and never question, but it is too late. The next day, the boy’s beheaded, bleeding head on the stake, for everyone in the gang to witness, and understand:  _ do not question authority. _

****  
  


Another thing Mark learnt, was how blood-stained their line of business is. He had watched under the wing of his master’s right hand man, that if you are not quick enough, you will be subjected to be overthrown. 

When their leader died, at least three people were eyeing for the position of power. His master, the right hand man, however, was a lot smarter and quicker than everyone else. He had the other two opponents beheaded, threatened their subordinates into pledging utmost allegiance to him, and attained the power with little to no resistance. 

****  
  
  
  
  


Mark breathes out as he pulls the dagger out of the limp body, the blood splattering on the floor. He had successfully learnt the art of  _ not _ having blood stain your clothes or skin. They are hard to wash off, and clear indicators of guilt. 

He glances at the other man that was assigned to this case with him, and nods at the masked figure. Both of them had masks on, and were assigned to kill this particular businessman who was causing a little  _ too _ much trouble with the authorities. 

That masked figure, is the person of equal rank as he was: Lee Jeno. While Mark is a hostage, Jeno is the nephew of their current master. They worked together, learnt accounting together, trained together. Lee Jeno, with his charming smile, is not all sugar, spice and all things nice. A streak of death runs through his blood, and he lacks humanity. Mark saw him twist a cat’s neck off  _ just for fun _ . From that day onwards, Mark distanced himself from Jeno. Both physically, and emotionally. 

****  
  


Physically, because he was sent to the house of his master’s sister’s. Not Jeno’s mother. Another sister. Thank goodness for it. He doesn’t think he can see Jeno without feeling like throwing up at that cold hearted smirk the other always adorns. 

Mark does the simple things: accounting, managing the businesses for his mistress, distributing the labour among the servants. Their gang had thrived as criminal activity shot up, and were very rich. With money, comes problems that the rich themselves, do not like to deal with. Even though he was only fifteen, Mark was already well known for his intelligence and affinity with numbers, hence why he was trusted with all the financing and accounting. 

But more than that, he was something else, for the mistress. 

****  
  
  


She smiles, as Mark enters the bathroom, adding more petals into the warm water, before adding another dose of the perfume she had recently purchased. He strips down to only his underwear, and steps into the warm bath, that only serves to send chills down his spine. 

He has learnt how to disconnect himself to his body. Killing people? No guilt or remorse. Any sign of emotion was seen as weakness and would result in immediate eradication. Selling the children? Burning the houses? He feels nothing but a void; or maybe, he just gets used to the pain and numbs. 

_ This, is the same concept _ , he reminds himself as he approaches his mistress. He breathes in deep, and gives her the charming smile she had fallen for. 

It was in his misfortune, that he accompanied his master to the tea house to meet the mistress. His toned body, sweet facial features and cool tone had immediately attracted her, though she is is at least ten years older. 

He massages her shoulders, finger nimble on smooth skin as she sighs in relief. 

“Is the money accounted for?” She asks. 

“Yes, mistress.” He replies promptly. The fading scar on his left arm is a constant reminder to never be slow in answers. 

“The day after tomorrow, we will need to visit my brother, your master. This new king, King Ten, is far more forceful and determined to wipe us out that the previous few. Tell the servants to prepare for a two week journey. There is a lot to solve.” She sighs as she closes her eyes. 

Mark knows by now, what to do. He massages her temples carefully, running his lips over her shoulder blades, tongue barely tasting the bitterness of the water. 

****  
  


“You always just know what to do, don’t you, gem?” She says as she turns around, smiling pleasantly at Mark, finger running up his thighs. She often told him how he was a rare find, a gem of high value; very, very precious. Mark wants to throw up, but he grits his teeth and swallows his sorrows, plastering a sweet smile as he allows her to take control over him. 

Lips fervent, hands wandering, he doesn’t think, neither does he indulge. He simply lets her use him, and disconnects himself from his body, breathing deeply. 

When they finish, she smiles at him, before calling in the servants to dress her, leaving him naked under the sheets, wishing over and over again, to run a dagger through his heart. 

****  
  
  
  


The day after tomorrow never comes. Mark narrowly escapes the raid the imperial guards do, rushing through the forests with a few other servants, to report back to their headquarters, only then to know, that his own master is dead. He was shot with a tiger carved arrow, bearing the symbol of the royals, on his journey back to the headquarters. 

****  
  


Mark does not hesitate for a minute, to swing the sword and slice through Jeno’s body, and then, bow in submission to one of the rising leaders. There is no time to think, only time for reflex action. 

His two masters are dead, and he does not want to assume a high position; hence why he must immediately submit to the next authority. At the same time, he wants the second-in-command. The nearer you are to your enemy, the better of a chance you have at killing them; which explains why he eliminated Jeno, his rival for the position. 

Or rather, what he tries to convince himself, in the darkness, of his justification of killing the other boy. Fifteen. Young. Just like him, though a different kind of victim. 

****  
  
  


There is no place for friendship and alliance here. Time, means nothing here. Mark has learnt how quickly leadership changes in this line of business, and how quick witted you must be, to remain alive and at the top of your game. There is no area for mistake, and no space for the stupid and slow. 

****  
  
  
  
  


As Mark trudges through the woods, his backpack filled with only a few clothes, some dried bread and fruits, a pole with a knife tied to the end in his hand, he wonders whether this was all worth it. 

Whether weathering through all those tough years of abuse was worth it. Now, there is nothing left. This King, he muses, is very effective. The last couple of months have been horrendous, and finally, the troops came to the headquarters. In the mess of chaos, Mark alone slipped away, running as far as he could. 

And now here he is, as he approaches an isolated village carefully. A new start, perhaps. A new beginning. One without the ugliness of his deeds. One without him murdering others. One without him disconnecting with himself. One without him being used sexually. 

One, where he is pure, untainted, a true, rare gem. 

****  
  
  
  
  


“Child, who are you?” The old woman speaks softly and with overflowing kindness. Mark looks at her, shaking his head. It is always better to pretend like you are, (or in this case, be actually), in too much pain; that way, no one will push and ask further. 

As expected, the old woman nods and sighs, walking away to prepare a comfortable bed for the boy. 

****  
  


“We cannot keep another child!’ The husband says in a hushed whisper, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Chief, chief. Do you not see the scars on his ankles? Sayang, sayang, let us keep him. I heard of the raid further north when I was in the market today. Perhaps he is from there. Have you not heard of the atrocities there? Can you imagine what this boy went through? Please, let us keep him. He is, but a child.” The woman soothes and explains gently. 

The husband grunts and relents, clearly annoyed, but not angry. The woman smiles in triumph, and shoots Mark a warm smile. 

****  
  


He comes to know her as ‘Ah Ma’, which coincidentally, is what the entire village knows her as. She is soft, never prodding, kind with wrinkles at the edges of her eyes whenever she smiled. 

Mark begins his new life. No one questions him, asks where he is from. He binds his shoes higher, to hide the scars he had inflicted on himself, to avoid questionings as well. The village is used to it, anyways, the old woman always finding these poor victims of the purges, bringing them home. 

Mark begins to forget his old life. It is simple, here in the village. 

In the morning, he helps the old woman prepare for lunch. In the afternoons, sometimes he travels south, near to where the capital is, to trade some items. Always, always, he comes back into the afternoons, burying his face into the old lady, breathing in her flower scent. He comes home. 

****  
  


Mark learns to laugh again. Ah Ma is a funny lady, always telling jokes. The children she has, numerous, he finds out, and they play with him. He doesn’t interact with the children his age; they never click, too vastly different, with various nightmares of their own. But the young children, so innocent, radiant, smiling faces, always calms him down, and the darn things they say, always cracking him up. 

****  
  


He learns, to cry again. He smiled when Ah Ma held his hand as he allowed a tear to drop for the first time in a long while, the smile wobbly and shaky, but there. 

“Nothing wrong with crying, my dear,” Ah Ma had said soothingly. “You will feel better. You are allowed to feel pain, sayang. You are allowed to feel hurt.” He only cries harder, soaking her clothes as he curls into her lap, next to the fire, feeling small, feeling like he is actually, just a child, a teenager of fifteen. 

She reminds him of his mother, stroking his hair, telling him stories. Happy ones, of course. That’s the difference. His mother always told sad stories; her almond shaped, deep set eyes said to be made to hold grief. Mark inherits that. Eyes made for grief. 

****  
  


He was playing with the little children in the village, making flower wreaths with them, when he experiences the grief he is well acquainted too. He cries, he mourns, he weeps for the first time in a long while, over someone’s death. She was 80 years old, and passed on peacefully, in her sleep.

****  
  


The husband, the village chief, is a nice man, yes. But he always held a prejudice to the children his wife brought home. Infidels, he always thinks. Orphans. Good for nothings. Low blood. Of course, he doesn’t say this out loud, but Mark can see it in his eyes. 

****  
  


The old lady gone, things turn hostile again; her overwhelming love and warmth that blanketed over the village ripped off, and the village becomes a field for war and violence again. Perhaps, it runs in Mark’s blood, but he finds himself involved in gang fights again. So much so, that the village chief threw him out of the house, saying, “I will not have a gangster in my house!” He lived on the streets ever since. 

To the village chief’s credit, he did try to help Mark. But Mark and him just never clicked, and their relationship soured further when the old lady died. 

****  
  


Which is why he never listens to him, and here he is again, perched on a pile of crates as he calmly watches the others fight for him. Three years, is long enough to establish his position, and he had gained a reputation, being the leader of one of the teenage gangs in the area. The gangs, of course, are nothing as corrupt and complicated as the Red Rubies; just simple clashes over territories, stealing, sharing some spoils, etc. 

From the height he is at, he can see approaching guards, and a little fear runs through him. He jumps from where he is at, and lands perfectly, on his two feet. He walks forward, the rest of his followers immediately rushing behind him, glaring at the opponent. 

“Alright now, boys! Enough!” The chief calls. One look at who is behind him, has everyone scurrying off. That is, except for Mark. He is intrigued by the crown adorned on one of the visitors’ heads.  _ Is this the man that wiped out his captors?  _

****  
  


“How many times must I tell you, that you don’t have to engage in every single fight?” He glares at the boy, fury fuelled when he is simply met with blank, hard eyes. They both know this is just for show; the chief doesn’t actually care if he gets into fights or not. 

“What is your name?” A guard clad in his armour had walked forward, and asks. 

Mark narrows his eyes at the visitor, and at the guard’s hip, his eyes catching the sun reflecting off the red rubies studded into the dagger. A shiver runs down his spine, and he turns his attention back to the guard, strangely, finding the guard already looking right at him, with those soft, brown orbs. Eyes that looked like his mother’s, and Ah Ma’s. It puts him a little more at ease, though he is still on his guard.

The village chief whips around, expression immediately softening as he bows his head. “Imperial Guard, there is no need-” 

Mark tries to hide a snicker at the response, snapping out of his thoughts. How  _ easily _ men fall at the feet of those in power. 

“Mark.” He replies, clear and smooth. “And who are you?” 

The imprudent, direct question earns him a hit on his head from the chief, who apologises profusely on his behalf. “Forgive him, my lord. He is an orphan, with no father nor mother to teach him proper manners.” 

The guard frowns. “I too, am an orphan, village chief. Are you saying I too, have no manners?” The guard raises his eyebrows at the flustered man, vaguely hearing a snicker behind him. “I….I do not mean-” 

“Where did you learn how to fight with such grace?” Johnny asks, gently. 

Mark briefly debates between telling the truth, or telling a lie. 

“Got to learn if you want to live on the streets.” A lie it is then. 

The guard seems to have fallen for it, nodding in approval. 

“Now, Mark, care to have a cup of tea with us? I will like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.” Johnny proposes. 

Again, Mark contemplates. Never, is it good to have a ‘cup of tea’. Always, it is about negotiation, plans, trading. But he sees the royal crest on the guard’s armour, and guesses it should not be so bad. After all, it is they who helped wiped out the people who tortured him emotionally and mentally for years. 

He shrugs, and they walk to the tea house. 

He learns that the guard’s name is called Johnny, and he works as the King’s personal bodyguard. The three watching them intently from the other table, are the Golden Tiger Triplets (the ugliest label he has heard), and are the most powerful people in the country. Mark gives short, curt answers, still on the fence as to how much to reveal. 

His story is simple: he was an orphan when he was six, was taken in by a gang who got wiped out during the purges, and is currently living on the streets, under the care of the village chief, who despises him. 

He conveniently leaves out the crimes he had committed, and how he had worked for the gang, and paints instead, a picture of him, solely being a victim, clean of any guilt. His gut twists at the retrospect and lies, but his face has mastered the technique of lying, and gives away nothing. 

****  
  
  


“You have raw talent, my boy. If I asked you to come to the palace to properly train, would you accept the offer?” Johnny eventually offers.

He thinks carefully. A new beginning, a new start. One without any more affiliations with the gangs, one where he can actually live a decent, guilt-free life. Sounds like the freedom he was hoping for, an escape from the constant cycle of how he is caged into this low life. 

He shrugs, pretending it means nothing to him, when it meant everything. “I don’t see why not. A roof over my head, food to eat, water to drink, sounds much better than having to steal and live off the gutter.” 

Johnny smiles. 

That day, he finds his new home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for some odd reason, my first chapters are always so damn LONG
> 
>  
> 
> I FORGOT TO ADD THIS AT THE START BUT 'Sayang' is a Malay word for saying like sweetheart? idk it's just an affectionate term. 'Ah Ma' is an affectionate Chinese word for grandmother


	2. 3376 START ON A FRESH PAGE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am very encouraged by all your comments they are so sweet (≧◡≦) thank you all so much! hmu and let's be friends on my [tumblr](https://tenecity.tumblr.com/) and/or [twitter](https://twitter.com/tenecty)  
> ask me questions on the characters, plot, or me ╰(*´︶`*)╯hehehehe on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me)

_**TWO** **———** **3376 START ON A FRESH PAGE** _

 

 

To put it simply, royal life is not easy. This is the first lesson Mark learns, when he steps into the royal grounds. The moment he stepped in, he is swiftly sent to the physicians for body checks, ensuring that he brings no illnesses or diseases from the village to the royal courts.

 

He is then ran a bath, and then thrown on with some robes that are light and velvety to the touch, but weigh him down tremendously. He frowns in the mirror, taking in his looks, adorning the ridiculous hat. He would very much like to just have his shirt and pants, rather than these nonsensical, overwhelming accessories.

 

Johnny has been quick, putting together a team of eunuchs, guards and servants to follow him everywhere he goes. Mark frowns at the arrangement, thinking he was only here to train as a guard, but unfortunately, that is _not_ the case. His swordsmanship trainings were only a _part_ of what he will do. Something about him being the King's guest; he really doesn't care. At least, he is out of the old pages. 

 

“I’m literally going to the _bathroom_ , is there really a need to follow me?” Mark whips around, exasperated. Everyone wears blank faces, except for that one, tiny, tanned guard. Annoying.

 

“Well, it’s our job, my lord. Unless you want us dead-”

 

“I would very much like so.” Mark says icily.

 

The guard simply glares and crosses his arms. “Are you going to proceed, or will you do your business here?”

 

He receives a hard nudge from his side by a more senior guard. “My lord, please excuse him. He is still young.”

 

“How old are you?” Mark asks, narrowing his eyes as he crosses his arms.

 

“How old are _you_?” The guard asks back, cheekily. This time, he receives a hard thump on the head from a passing noble. Mark raises his eyebrows, his eyes scanning the intruder, before realising who he is. Kim Doyoung, the Imperial Secretary.

 

“And to think Johnny recommended you as the best royal guard to take care of our guest.” Doyoung reprimands, rolling his eyes.

 

Donghyuck flushes, and inclines his head, mumbling a very long, memorised apology. Mark snickers and turns away, moving on.

  
  


“I don’t want to.”

 

“My lord, please-”

 

“For goodness’ sake, _no_.” Mark stubbornly refuses, crossing his arms as he stands his ground. They want him to sleep on the most luxurious bed that he has seen all his life, when he would rather sleep on the floor. He tells the eunuch this.

 

“My lord, you are our King’s guest-”

 

“Well, then my wish is your command so-”

  


“Eunuch Kim, just let the boy sleep on the floor.” Doyoung says tiredly, when the eunuch came to him, bewildered and helpless. Doyoung rubs his temples. As if he doesn’t have enough on his plate, in comes hurling this problematic child. “He will have to get used to the royal life soon, anyhow.”

  


Evidently, Mark hates many parts of the palace. He hates the formality, he hates the thousands of layers of procedures he has to go through to even have _a word_ with the King. He hates the long court meetings he is forced to participate in, he hates that he has to follow a set schedule. No one gave him schedules when he was with the Red Rubies. Time meant nothing there, everything was very flexible.

  
  


There is one thing, however, that he does not hate. And that, would be his lessons with Johnny. Swordsmanship lessons that the Imperial Guard had promised the first day they met.

 

While Mark had the raw talent and the grace and smoothness, he had only ever wielded a pole, or a small dagger. Never a sword. It was completely different; from the way you hold it, to the way you wield it. The weight, the size, the flair; Mark has to relearn everything. And he enjoys it. It is something that challenges him, something that he can focus on. The palace customs and regulations are all so black and white, no life, no art to it. Boring. This? By far, more interesting.

 

Also, perhaps because this is the area he can confidently annoy his guard, who he finds out, is called Donghyuck, in.

  


Johnny smiles at the boy as he comes in, laughing quietly as he spots Donghyuck and him already bickering.   


“I trained since I was twelve, Mark Lee. You have only trained for less than two weeks, you sure you want to challenge me?” Donghyuck’s honey voice prods Mark’s pride.

 

They have unspokenly dropped all formalities; not that Mark minded anyways. And since Mark is at the top of the hierarchy between them, Donghyuck has comfortably and conveniently forgone any sort of correct labelling.

 

Mark just twists his face into a scowl.

 

Amused, Johnny raises his hand to them. Beside him, is the King, who is cleaning his sword. For years, he was so busy, he had lost the time to practice this art. Now that things are more stable, he has begun to pick it up again.

  


There are probably only four people in the entire palace that Mark actually respects. That, being the King himself, Johnny, Doyoung and Kun.

 

The King shows remarkable nonchalance at the crude ways of Mark Lee, and that nonchalance has in some way or another, gained respect from Mark. The King isn’t who Mark would imagine to be: certainly, Ten held the authority and position, but he is kind and never forces Mark to do anything. Even with his busy schedule, he always asks for updates with Mark, and chooses to spend time with the boy, to learn more about him.

 

Johnny, with his warm, kind smile and similar background, as well as the common interest in swordsmanship, obviously clicked well with the younger. It took some time to pull Mark out of his shell, but Johnny’s soft words and gentle gestures eventually helped Mark feel comfortable with the elder.

  


“Greetings.” Mark calls out, while Johnny nods. He bows to the King, who immediately excuses him.

 

“How are you?” Ten asks the younger.

  
“Very well, my King.” Mark replies easily, and with respect.

 

“I thought I would like to oversee your practice today, and see the progress you have made. No pressure, Noble Lee. I just wanted to see how it is.” Ten explains.

 

“Or rather, he would like to see what his guard is up to, during the times he is _not_ with him.” A sarcastic, cheeky voice calls out from behind them.

 

Ten doesn’t even bother to turn around, and rolls his eyes, pretending he does not blush, taking his seat at the side of the arena. “Imperial Secretary, I would prefer if you kept your mouth _shut._ What are you doing here?”

 

“ _If_ you have forgotten, I was the top of my cohorde for this. I am right here in my element, my King.” Doyoung retorts as he slides out a sword from the display. “Fancy a match, Johnny?”

 

The Imperial Guard sighs. “I am here to teach, not to entertain you. Where’s the Foreign Minister?”

 

“Oh, you know Kun. No heart for this ‘wild sport’. His words, not mine.” Doyoung replies easily, sliding the sword back in place and taking a seat next to Ten.

 

The easy, comfortable atmosphere between the four, has put Mark in very much ease. It seems, that between the four of them, the hard lines of royal rules and regulations ebb away, and they are very much comfortable with the informalities, very much suiting Mark’s style of handling human relationships.

  
  


Johnny and Mark approach the field and Johnny just does a simple recap and teaches him a new technique, whilst Donghyuck watches with narrow eyes. He hates to admit it, but Mark Lee is very good at this. He may have never held a sword before, but he has an aptitude for it. He is mastering the very move that took Donghyuck weeks to learn, in this simple one hour. He is boiling with jealousy.

  
  


“Alright, alright. This is boring, my dear guard! Let us actually spar.” Doyoung says with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

  
“The King and the Imperial Guard, and Noble Lee with…..you.” Doyoung points at Donghyuck and he pretends he doesn’t feel a shiver down his spine in the way Mark’s eyes pierce him, the sweat matted hair pressed against the glistening forehead.

  
  


“They are very good.” Mark mumbles, his eyes never leaving the duo. They spar with a strange chemistry, the King and his guard. While they are clashing their swords, they also move with a grace and ease, as if able to predict each other’s moves, like water crashing into each other.

 

“Well, they used to spar a lot, back in the day,” Donghyuck comments, eyes also trained on the duo. It is exciting, murmurs rising every time things get intense; the servants all watching, peeking from behind pillars and bars. It is always interesting, to watch the two spar.

 

“There used to be another guard. The previous Imperial Guard. Guard Jung. He was very good as well. Mememirising even, to watch him and Johnny spar.” Donghyuck continues.

 

“He was Guard Seo’s mentor?” Mark asks. Usually, he would be annoyed at how much extra information Donghyuck gives, but here, he is more than intrigued.

 

“No. They were from the same batch.”

 

Mark nods and raises his eyebrows slightly as Ten’s sword clashes with Johnny’s, their swords in a lock as they push and pull.

 

Donghyuck continues, “But, he died.”

 

Mark raises his eyebrows even more, and gives Donghyuck a quick glance to see if he is kidding. He sees no mischief on the other’s face, and shrugs, nodding in acknowledgement. He is not that surprised by deaths anymore; he has seen it way too many times. But still, he is curious. _Why was he dead?_

 

It is as if his guard could read his mind. “Want to know why he’s dead?” Donghyuck asks, already turning to pick up his sword, the other two clearing the field, lilting laughter filling the air with appalauses sounding everywhere.

 

Mark merely hums as he picks up his own sword, shifting it from hand to hand, shaking off the slight nervousness in his system.

 

“Beat me to find out.” The guard has the audacity to wink as he enters the field, rolling his shoulders, the setting sun glowing pleasingly on his warm skin. Mark grits his teeth. No _way_ he is going to lose.

  
  
  


Donghyuck curses at himself for underestimating his strength, and for forgetting that Mark is still ill-trained. When he slides his sword in a low cut, he thought Mark would be fast enough to predict the action and step out of the way. Instead, the sword cuts through flesh.

 

It is a good thing that a, the sword is blunt and b, it is made out of finely carved wood. It is enough to draw out blood, but not enough to amputate an entire foot. Doyoung is already on his feet, rushing to Mark’s side as the other bites his cheek, swallowing his pain.

 

Of course, he has experienced worst, but not in a long time. The searing pain from something like a sword instead of a pole, is something he needs to redevelop a tolerance for.

 

Donghyuck guiltily follows the paramedics, holding in his tears as he watches the doctors remove the splinters painfully, cleaning the wound with alcohol that has Mark hissing in pain. He watches forlornly as pain etches the other’s face, knuckles white as he balls his fists.

  
  


“I’m sorry.” He says, as he hands in his report to Commander Nakamoto.

 

Yuta narrows his eyes, mouth already open to spill the reprimandations.

 

“How many times must I tell you to be careful, young lad? You are the clumsiest guard I have seen throughout my entire career as a commander, and that is a very long time, do you hear me? He is not any other guard, do you know that, Guard Lee? He is the King’s guest, under the King’s legal guardianship, and still, you are not careful. You are lucky Imperial Guard Seo wrote in a plea of pardon for you, stamped and approved by the King himself; otherwise, I would have thrown you on the streets already.”

 

Donghyuck closes his eyes, as he apologises again, head touching the floor as he kowtows for mercy.

 

“Enough. You are dismissed. I do not want to hear a single problem or accident anymore. Do you hear me?”

  


Donghyuck trudges back to his quarters, shoulders slumping.

 

He knows, he will never be enough. He can barely keep track of the number of times his careless mistakes had caused an accident. He was never made for this. He was born in to a lower class noble family, hence why he became a royal guard, but not of a particular high rank. His hands, were never made for the sword however. When he was born, he cried high and loud that everyone thought he was a girl.

 

In the years to come, repeated failure during the Entrance Examinations made him a disgrace to his family, and he was regarded as weak and useless, not good in any art. Musically, he was talented, but who wants a man who can only play the guzheng and sing, and do nothing else? That is for girls, not boys.

 

He reaches his quarters, and is immediately piled on with a basin of water and a cloth, the eunuch furiously whispering that the noble will have _no one_ , but Donghyuck to clean his wounds.

 

The eunuch is an old man, an old family friend, and he pats encouragingly on Donghyuck’s back, while the other sighs as he takes off his armour, and enters the room with normal robes, where it would be easier to tend and treat the wounds.

  
  


He greets the noble dully, and kneels in front of the bed (they managed to convince him to sleep on it, now that he is injured). He carefully removes the cloths and shoe, ignoring the strange glances the noble gives him.

 

“Stop.” Mark says, clearing his throat when everything is removed. He narrows his eyes at the red rimmed, puffy eyes and small sniffles that are barely audible, and the way Donghyuck carries himself with heavy burden, instead of the usual, light humour.

 

“I am sorry-”

 

“You don’t have to apologise, you know. Accidents happen all the time.” Mark says smoothly, cutting the boy off. He tries to catch the other’s eye, but the guard will barely lift his face up.

  


“Why are you crying?”

 

“I am not crying.”

 

“Okay. Why _were_ you crying?” Mark rephrases exasperatingly.

 

Donghyuck just keeps quiet, proceeding to remove the bandage, wincing at the dried blood as he dabs the area with the warm water.

 

“I asked you a question.” Mark says, impatient.

 

Donghyuck doesn’t reply, simply placing the cloth back into the water, and picks up the ailment the eunuch gave him, tenderly placing it over the wound.

 

Mark makes a sound of annoyance. “This isn’t your fault, you know that right?”

 

Donghyuck just keeps silent.

 

“Oh for Tian’s sake Lee Donghyuck! Why wouldn’t you _speak_ ?” Usually, it is the reverse; Donghyuck annoyed at Mark’s lack of retorts and silence, and Mark annoyed at the constant chatter of the other. Now, he is wishing for the other to say _something_.

  


“I’m-” And there it is, the very reason why he wouldn’t speak. His voice cracks in the most heartbreaking way as he feels tears choke him and he swallows hard. Mark watches the other boy in surprise and panic. “Um...hey, er, don’t cry. I’m sorry?”

  


Obviously, Mark has no aptitude for comforting others, because Donghyuck sniffles just get louder. Mark raises his eyebrows, and lets the boy cry while he wraps up his own treatment, awkwardly patting Donghyuck’s back.

 

His cries must have been quite loud, because soon, Johnny knocks and bursts in without much elegance, and collects Donghyuck in his arms, mumbling something about a “ _Stupid Yuta”_ , and apologises to Mark, before quickly wrapping everything up and leaving, leaving Mark to stare blankly at them.

  
  
  
  
  


Mark stares at the ceiling, the candles burning low, slumber never coming.

  
  
  
  
  


The next day, it is as if nothing has happened, Donghyuck is his usual sarcastic self, babbling about some nonsensical things as they make their way to the classrooms on the other side of the darn big palace; and Mark doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry.

 

“Do you ever shut up?” Mark asks as he scowls. Donghyuck simply sticks his tongue out as he greets a hello to the guards at the doorway, who ruffle his hair in affection.

  
  


The King has specifically arranged for Mark to have special tutors, his curriculum different from the rest of the nobles taking the lessons; for the mere reason that the King had a gut feeling, that Mark will learn at quite a different pace. And right as he usually is, Mark learns things far more rapidly than anyone.

 

His previous background of accounting helps him excel in calculations and mathematics; his nimble fingers flying as they push the beads on the abacus up and down. He memorises the passages from the different books fast and quick, and absorbs information very quickly. Occasionally, when Doyoung is free, he would help Mark vet his essays, pointing out different mistakes. Mark is open to any sort of criticism (unless they come from Donghyuck), and corrects almost immediately.

  


“His progress is astounding, your Majesty.” The tutor reports to the King, who is reading one of Mark’s well written essays on economics, with great interest, amazed by the wisdom and conciseness of the way Mark writes his idea of an ideal economy. Maybe because of his background, and how he understands the way things had worked within the Red Rubies, he has applied some of that knowledge to his essays.

 

A mistake, apparently.

 

“How does he know so much? Did you teach him this?” Ten muses, as he passes the parchment to Kun, who then scans through it.

 

The tutor shakes his head. “Exactly what I am puzzling over, your Majesty. His style of writing and structuring has been taught by me, and refined by the Imperial Secretary; but the knowledge and content, with such details of the inner workings of organisations….my King, that is no simple knowledge accessible to people as young as him.”

 

“So, what you suggest is….?” Doyoung raises his eyebrows, crossing his arms.

 

“He may have worked for an organised firm before. Or something to the like. His background, maybe, if I am brave to assume, that of accountancy? His parents may have been in the finance sector.” The tutor proposes cautiously, sugar coating everything very nicely.

 

Johnny shakes his head. “He says he was orphaned at six.”

 

“He _says_.” Kun chimes in, looking up. “We only have his word for it.”

 

“Now, just what are you implying, gentlemen?” Doyoung raises his voice. He actually _likes_ that kid. He can’t stand that they are _suspecting_ him. He is just a _kid_.

 

The tutor throws his hands in surrender. “Nothing, my lord. I only suggest-”

 

“Do not assume, unless you know.” Ten cuts in smoothly. “We will keep an eye out for anything, but do not treat him any differently. You are dismissed.” He holds his gaze with Doyoung as the tutor retreats, willing for Doyoung to bite back an insult, in which, the other graciously does.

 

“This is ridiculous. You are suspecting he is some sort of spy for the currently nonexistent rebels? Ridiculous, I tell you! Ridiculous.” Doyoung says angrily, sending daggers at Kun.

 

“I was just pointing out that we have no actual records of the boy, only his word for it. That is all.” The Minister says quietly, rolling the scroll.

 

“Kun is right. Not to mention that his answers have been vague and very, very broad.” Johnny adds on. Doyoung glares at all of them, but only huffs in annoyance, unable to refute a true statement.

 

“Just keep an eye on him. Maybe ask Donghyuck to find out something.” Ten says casually, though he knows the weight of his words.

 

“He will not like it. It creates barriers.”

 

“I didn’t say to do it in secret. He can tell him openly.” Ten replies easily.

 

They hum in agreement. Ambiguity is not a good thing in the palace. If they want to completely accept this boy, they had better know everything about him, and what he hides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have planned out this entire story already!!! and then i realise im just digging a grave for myself .｡･ﾟﾟ･(＞_＜)･ﾟﾟ･｡.


	3. 4225 WORDS MERGED, PAGES SEALED

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm genuinely am so touched and happy that so many people already love this fic, though we are barely just diving in thankyou all so much for the comments on the previous chapters and for showering so much love on to this fic already ヾ(＾-＾)ノ
> 
> side note: rec some spicy markhyuck fics because i need to draft out some scenes for the two anddd i need some references (this is really what i do on a regular basis but i aint got time to search and comb through ao3 for good scenes so hhh pls recommend) 
> 
> follow me on [tumblr](https://tenecity.tumblr.com/) and/or [twitter](https://twitter.com/tenecty) where i just post/retweet and post some random nct related content
> 
> also, ask me questions on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me) (❁´◡`❁)
> 
> hope yall enjoy this chapter!

**THREE** ——— **4225 WORDS MERGED, PAGES SEALED**

 

Mark jolts right up in cold sweat. There it was again, one of the many people he murdered, haunting him. He has been getting these nightmares again. During his time in the village, when Ah Ma was still around, they had stopped for a short while, though they came back to him slowly, as if demons returning to their home. 

 

“Mark?” A voice calls blearily. Donghyuck. Right. He needs to stay calm. He can’t have the other wondering what’s wrong with him. 

 

They have spent many nights like this; Mark spending hours after the sun sets to copy pages after pages from the books he studies. Otherwise, how else will he memorise all the heavy content? Donghyuck had unfortunately been tasked to stay with noble till he sleeps, supposedly to ensure the safety of the noble, but clearly, he always dozes off, Mark rolling his eyes. 

  
  


“What’s wrong?” Donghyuck’s voice is clearer as he sits straighter, watching Mark with concern. 

 

“Nothing.” Mark says after a beat, eyes locking with the younger’s, eyebrows knitting tight. “Go back to sleep.” 

  
  
  
  


“So you want me to ask him where he came from, what happened to his parents, and how he knows what is a centralised economy and how they distribute it, when he is only eighteen years old?” Donghyuck recites it perfectly, looking at Johnny expectantly. 

 

“Uh, yes. Try to make it as subtle as possible, if you can.” But Johnny thinks his words go in one ear of Donghyuck’s and out the other. 

  
  
  


“What?” Mark says with surprise, his entire body upright with tension and suspicion. Why do they have a sudden interest in his background and extent of knowledge? What do they know? What do they  _ want _ to know? What will happen if they know he held a great role in one of the most disastrous, murderous organised crime groups in history? 

 

“Yup.” Donghyuck pops the ‘p’, completely unaware of his master’s tension as he continues to play with the little village girl, slotting a flower into her hair. 

 

Ten had begun to bring Mark out on village visitations, in an attempt to train some empathy in him, and also to see how things are like on the ground, and where to progress from there. Mark may have experienced some of the hardships, but each village had their own, specific problems. That, is the kind of data they need to collect, in a collective effort to improve the living standard in all provinces. 

 

Mark furrows his eyebrows. “Why did they ask you to ask me that?” 

 

But his question falls on deaf ears as he watches Donghyuck crouch down and wave goodbye to the small girl, eyes glassy as he watches her skip along with her other friends, back to their houses. 

 

“Donghyuck?” He calls softly, and the guard clears his throat as he stands up. “Sorry. What were you saying?” 

 

Mark simply shakes his head, breaking the eye contact as he stares at the paddy fields instead, unable to meet the amount of emotion and pain in Donghyuck’s eyes. 

 

They ride back in silence, Donghyuck’s mind clearly elsewhere, as Johnny has to repeat his instructions a few times. He pretends he does not hear, but in truth, he is eavesdropping. 

 

“Donghyuck, now is not the time to mourn. Please.” Johnny says lowly, squeezing the younger guard’s shoulders. 

 

“Okay. Okay.” The younger takes a deep breath, only to look like he is about to burst out in tears again. Johnny sighs as he engulfs the younger in a short hug, softly instructing another guard to take the role of leading the noble’s troops, to ensure that they don’t get lost. His words are not caught by the noble, whose eyes are only fixated on one person.

  
  


“Where’s Donghyuck?” Mark asks, frowning as he sees another guard take the lead role in front of him. 

 

“He was assigned to take the back wing, my Lord. Imperial Guard Seo instructed so.” 

 

“I want him here.” 

 

“But sir-” 

 

“You can lead. I want him here.” Mark has no idea why he is so demanding, besides the fact that he feels uncomfortable with the distance between him and Donghyuck. 

 

“Then there will be no one at the back wing, my Lord.” The guard argues. 

 

Mark huffs in annoyance, mouth twisting unpleasantly, hating the sinking gut feeling in his stomach. 

  
  
  
  


“What happened?” Mark asks as soon as he is undressed into simpler clothes, crossing his arms as Donghyuck approaches his study table with some herbal tea. 

 

“What?” Donghyuck asks, as he pours the tea carefully, handing a cup to Mark, who accepts it graciously. 

 

“Why were you transferred to the back wing?” Mark demands. 

 

Donghyuck shrugs. 

 

“Tell me.” 

 

“Only  _ if _ you tell me where your parents came from, how they died-” 

 

“You are impossible.” Mark hisses, slamming the cup down on the table. “I don’t want to answer those questions.” Donghyuck shrugs in reply, as if to say  _ ‘Then I wouldn’t reply yours too.’ _

 

Mark glares at Donghyuck. “Get out.” He says, gritting his teeth. Donghyuck sighs, heart heavy and twisting with burden and guilt, but nonetheless retreating from the room, Mark’s eyes burning through him. 

  
  


He wakes up again, in the darkness, and he startles, when he sees the guard slumped near his seat on the floor, half asleep. The guard shifts at the tiniest of noises, and eyes already wide open when Mark had jolted from yet another of his terrible nightmares. 

 

This particular nightmare was even worse, with his mistress and the awful things she has done to him. Tears collect at the corner of his eyes and he blanches, hand covering his mouth. Donghyuck is quick to react, bringing the basin fast enough for Mark to spill the contents of his dinner. 

 

Donghyuck soothes Mark, rubbing his back, giving him some water to wash down the bile. He half carries, half drags Mark to his bed, tucking him in like some small child, Mark’s glassy eyes following his every movement. Donghyuck brushes his fingers over Mark’s dripping hair, wiping the sweat of them. 

 

He is mumbling something, and over his palpitating heart and the blood rushing in his ears, he couldn’t quite hear. But he eventually makes out what the other is saying, heart calming at the honey voice and soft touches. 

 

He closes his eyes as he hears the words repeat.

 

“You’re okay. You’re safe here. Everything is okay. 

 

“I am here.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


“So what you are saying is, he has consistent nightmares every night?” The physician raises his eyebrow at Donghyuck for confirmation. Donghyuck nods rapidly. “He breaks out in cold sweat and looks scared. Last night, he even vomited.” 

 

The physician frowns deep and brush works fast on paper as he notes it down. 

 

“Well?” The King asks. 

 

Donghyuck, concerned, had report the nightly events to Johnny and the King, and they had called in the best physician they had around, to diagnose the problem, equally worried. 

 

“If he is having these constant nightmares, something is plaguing him. Maybe some black magic or negative energy. I shall have to see him myself, together with a witch to further confirm this.” 

 

“And if it is not?’ The King urges, eyebrows furrowed deep. 

 

“If it is not, then his nightmares may be linked to some traumatic event that had happened earlier, or something he regrets, that keeps plaguing his mind. In respect to that, I can only suggest counselling and close attention, I’m afraid.” The physician says. 

 

“I see.” Ten mumbles, wild eyes searching for solace in Johnny. Donghyuck trains his eyes on the floor, not wanting to exactly intrude their quiet, shared, intimate moments. He always admires the King and his guard for their relationship; so intimate that they need not share words to understand each other. He wants a relationship like that. A soulmate. 

  
  


“What is they doing here? What in the world is that?” Mark says, wrinkling his nose in disgust as he eventually surrenders himself to the physician and the witch, given that the King has graciously taken time out to personally visit him and hold his hand, while the witch does some ridiculous ritual, and the physician checks his pulse and what not. 

 

“Relax, Mark. They just want to check some things, hmm?” Ten soothes, rubbing the back of Mark’s hand, while the other pouts. Johnny tries to hide a smile at the sight, while Donghyuck’s eyebrows furrow deep, lost in thought as he watches the procedures. 

 

The physician sighs and frowns some more, moving to the side to consult and tally his findings with the witch, who has an equally frustrated expression on her face. Mark seems unbothered, simply frowning and glaring at the floor, whilst the other three look at the two specialist with great concern. 

 

“There is nothing, your Majesty. We found nothing.” The physician says, scratching his head. “Which can only mean the other possibility. Which in that case….” He trails off, glancing at the King, who nods understandingly, dismissing the two. 

 

Donghyuck pours a cup of tea while Ten and Johnny sit with Mark at the table. Nervousness courses through Mark’s system, and he wears the neutral facade he has maintained and perfected for so long. 

  
  


“So, Mark.” Ten begins, biting the inside of his cheek. This is harder than ever. 

 

“Donghyuck has reported to us, that you have been experiencing very bad nightmares. Is that right?” Ten says gently. Donghyuck doesn’t dare to lift his head, already feeling the rage radiating off Mark. A betrayal of a told secret meant for the two of them only. 

 

“...Yes.” Mark eventually says, glaring as he traces the patterns on the table. Johnny can already sense the tense atmosphere, and says softly, “If you don’t want to talk about it, that is fine as well. All we are concerned of, is your well being. We just want to know how to help.”

 

“I don’t need help.” Mark retorts childishly. 

 

Johnny breathes in deep. “Mark-” 

 

“I’m late for my lessons.” Mark says softly, abruptly standing up. 

 

“Mark, please.” Johnny pleads, catching Mark’s wrist. 

 

The younger simply wretches his wrist out of the guard’s grip, and storms out of the room, Donghyuck trailing after, sending an apologetic glance to the two visitors. 

  
  
  


“Why did you have to tell them?” Mark snaps as he whips around, once he is sure they are out of earshot. 

 

Donghyuck winces at the action, bottom lip trembling. “I was just  _ worried _ , Mark.” 

 

“Well, then  _ don’t worry _ . It’s none of your business.” 

 

“But I’m your guard!” Donghyuck protests, glaring at Mark. 

 

“I can easily swap you out.” 

 

“But you haven’t.” Donghyuck pointedly notes, in which Mark simply grits his teeth, turning around as he walks away. 

  
  


“Don’t tell them anything anymore, got it? You’re supposed to be  _ my _ guard, not theirs.” Mark adds on, whipping around again as he meets Donghyuck’s amused expression. 

 

Donghyuck shrugs. “If you let me help you through it, I guess.” Mark simply stares at him wide eyed. What kind of trade off is that? But whatever, it’s not his loss anyway, and if Donghyuck wants it that way, so be it. So he scoffs, and turns around, briskly walking to his class whilst Donghyuck tell him to slow down and that this is a complete  _ ‘mockery of (his) short legs!’ _

 

Doyoung flips open his fan in the most dramatic way possible, watching the two bicker in the distance. “The most curious dynamic indeed,” He comments. Kun just narrows his eyes at him and rolls them, before hitting Doyoung on the head. 

 

“ _ Please _ , spare me, and keep your threatrics to yourself.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Alright, look, it’s been five months, and I still don’t have any clue about you.” Donghyuck says as he props his head on his palm, watching boredly as Mark concentrates on copying every single line of the chapter 10 of the Great Learning. 

 

“So,” he is now completely unfazed by the other’s silence, knowing that the other is listening to him, even though he shows minimal sign of it, “I was wondering if we exchanged a fact about each other every day. Then, we will know each other better.” 

 

“Why is there this  _ incessant _ need to know me better?” Mark complains as he places the brush down into the ink stone. 

 

Donghyuck blinks. “Because that’s what guards do. The better I know you, the better I can protect you. Look at Guard Seo and the King; they barely need to talk to know what the other thinks.” 

 

Mark raises his eyebrows. “I don’t think that kind of telepathy, is just some simple guard-master relationship.” 

 

“True.” Donghyuck agrees as he plays with the ink stone and the ink stick, swishing the contents around. “They aren’t in a simple relationship, but no one dares to say so.” 

 

“They used to be very close. But ever since the internal war after the late King’s death, they grew distant. It’s kind of sad. Guard Seo looks miserable.” Donghyuck mumbles as he watches the black ink dilute a little, small gold flecks reflecting in the light. 

 

“What internal war?” Mark can’t help but be curious. 

 

Honestly, you would think the years he had in the gang would teach him to stay quiet and simply listen and observe; Donghyuck is bound to give him the information anyway. Still, something about the guard — those innocent, searching eyes and his tanned, warm skin—has him intrigued. 

 

“Oh, you know. After every King’s death, a bloodbath happens as the royals fight for their place on the throne. I, personally, think their sudden distance has something to do with Guard Jung’s death.” 

 

“The previous Imperial Guard?” 

 

Donghyuck hums, putting the ink stick down as he rest his head on one arm, lying down, choosing to instead, play with the loose red string around his wrist, a little token slung through it.

 

“How did he die?” Mark asks, watching the way Donghyuck’s small fingers fiddle with the token. It is a very small gold-plated tablet, with a tiger engraved on one side, and Chinese characters that spell  楷灿. 

 

“He died while trying to get embezzlement records. They underestimated the strength of the officials’ personal guards and were overpowered. Even though I ran back and told Johnny that backup was needed, it was already too late.” Donghyuck says softly, pressing hard on the edge of the tablet, a dull pain setting into the tips of his fingers. 

 

“I like Guard Jung, and he actually liked me. Took care of me, when I first joined. He didn’t tease me or lose faith in me even though I failed a million times. He was a good man.” Donghyuck whispers sadly, fingers dropping as his eyes train on the floor, the candle light barely showing the glistening in them. 

 

“I’m sorry.” Mark says. For the first time in a long while, he felt a familiar pain of grief for someone’s death. And he barely knows this Guard Jung. 

 

“Yea.” Donghyuck breathes out. 

 

Mark watches the emotions flit over the younger’s face, and muses at how the younger always seems to wear his heart on his sleeve. So predictable, so readable; if he was in the Red Rubies, he would never make it through. 

  
  


“Anyway,” Donghyuck takes a deep breath, sitting up, “the King, then called Prince Ten, was completely against Johnny going onto the field. He’s really scary.” Donghyuck continues. 

 

“Who? The King?” 

 

“Yea.” 

 

“No, he isn’t.” 

 

“Yes, he is.” 

 

“No.” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“No.” 

 

“ _ Well,” _ Donghyuck raises his voice a little louder, glaring at the noble. “To you, maybe he isn’t. To  _ me _ , he is hella scary. Before, he was even scarier. Now, it’s like the subdued version of his past self. Guard Seo really did miracles to him.” Donghyuck says the end quietly, looking nervously at the paper thin door. 

  
  


“So that’s one fact.” Donghyuck concludes, holding up one finger, looking at Mark expectantly. “Your turn.”

 

“But that’s not one fact about you.” Mark says, frowning, displeased. 

 

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Okay. To put it clearly for your small brain,” in which he receive a flick on his forehead, “I was one of the King’s guards.” He glares at Mark as he rubs the red spot on his tanned skin. “That  _ hurts _ .” 

 

Mark sticks out his tongue and crosses his arms, face flushing after, at how childish he is. “Then what are you doing here?” 

 

“I was recommended by Guard Seo to be your personal bodyguard.” Donghyuck answers, with a proud smile on his face. Mark figures he likes to see that nice row of teeth on display more often, than the scowl the other usually has on. 

  
  


“You and Guard Seo are really quite close, huh.” Mark comments as he flips the now dried parchment, and picks up the brush, glancing at the book, before continuing to copy the rest of the chapter. 

 

“Yea. Took me under his wing, just like Guard Jung did. He has always been nice to me. Kept me sane during the aftermath of the internal war, even though things were hectic for himself.” Donghyuck explains, smiling at the thought of Johnny. He looked up to Johnny, and always found solace in the other. 

 

“Sane?” Mark questions as he glances at the book again, before dipping his brush into the ink stone. “Why sane?” 

 

“Oh you know, back then I was quite young, only eleven or twelve. I was kind of shocked by everything. The blood, the dead.” Donghyuck shivers at the thought. 

 

“ _ That _ young? How did you even get in?” Mark frowns at the queerness of it. 

 

“I was supposed to take the entrance exams but failed twice, so they transferred me-” 

 

“The entrance exams are for usually for candidates of age 20 and above, no?” Mark muses, raising his eyebrows as he locks gazes with Donghyuck. “What are  _ you _ doing, taking it?” 

 

Donghyuck shrugs. “My family is a family of geniuses. Everyone was competing to see who’s kid can take and pass it at the youngest age. But I’m no genius, so I didn’t pass.” 

 

“You were  _ eleven _ , Donghyuck.” Mark says through gritted teeth, and puts down his brush for good. “Who sends their eleven year old child for an entrance exam?” Donghyuck raises his eyebrows as if to obviously indicate his family. 

 

Mark sighs, frowning deep as he glares at the younger, unknown rage. “Just because you didn’t pass at eleven doesn’t mean you’re stupid. You were  _ eleven _ .” 

 

Donghyuck shrugs. “Tell that to my dead father.” 

  
  
  


Mark stares at Donghyuck as the words spill out. “ _ What? _ ” He can barely control his surprise. 

 

“What?” 

 

“How….” Mark looks at the blank expression on Donghyuck’s face. He recognises that expression. The expression he probably has, whenever he disassociate himself from his emotions. 

 

Donghyuck takes a deep breath. “My family died during the internal war. My father was a low class noble, but they didn’t spare him. My sister worked as a servant for one of the higher ranking officials, and died too, most probably while protecting her mistress.” Donghyuck says almost monotonously, clenching his fists tight. 

 

“What?” Mark whispers, still baffled. He thought violence only existed  _ outside _ of the palace, in those dirty, filthy places with poverty crawling all over the place. Not the palace, which overflows with riches, which is supposed to be  _ safe _ . 

 

It seems, Mark muses, that  _ nowhere _ will ever be safe. 

  
  


Donghyuck shrugs. “It’s the price we have to pay. But Guard Seo promises that the King is working hard to make it worth it. Or at least, that’s what I’m trying to convince myself. That it’s worth it.” Donghyuck says quietly fidgeting in his seat. He is uncomfortable to say the least, but if he wants to know more about Mark, he may as well strip himself down to the core as well. 

 

“So...you have no living family?” 

 

“My mum’s still alive.” Donghyuck adds on sadly. “She somehow escaped, but went on to marry another rich official. She doesn’t like to see me much, though. Brings her too much pain and disgrace.” 

  
  


Mark just blinks as he lets the information sink in, staring at Donghyuck. He had no idea that this lighthearted, humourous, always so happy, joking and joyful boy, could have burdened so much pain. 

 

Now he understands why, even though Donghyuck acts childishly around him, he can have the maturity to talk to the other guards, senior to him by years. Why he can speak to the elderly with such ease. Why he can handle his duties with such ease and confidence, even though the burden of being the personal bodyguard to the King’s guest is the most stressful jobs of all time, with millions of reports to do. 

 

It is precisely because of this pain and suffering that he has carried on his back all these years, that he can speak with such maturity and understanding, connecting with others who have also suffered, and having the capacity to handle the burden of his duties. 

 

He may be emotionally open, crying whenever, and always appear so small, raw and vulnerable; but inside, his heart is made of steel, strong and steady. 

 

Mark would have never guessed his guard is like this. 

  
  


If anything, it helps him feel a little more comfortable. Donghyuck would be on the same page as him. Maybe even understand a little of his own sufferings. 

  
  


“Are you done?” Donghyuck whispers softly, eyes still wandering, unable to meet Mark’s. 

 

“Do you want to go back to your room that badly?” Mark muses, watching the younger. 

 

“No! I mean, I just, er….” Donghyuck fumbles as he speaks, a light blush tainting his cheeks. 

 

Mark laughs. “Look, I’ll have one of the servants bring in a bed tomorrow, and then you don’t have to keep travelling so much, whilst still able to accompany me. How about that?” He offers. 

 

Donghyuck blinks, once, twice, before his face breaks into a smile. “Ask them to do it now.” Mark rolls his eyes at the demand, but all the same, has the servants move all of Donghyuck’s belongings in the middle of the night, just so that Donghyuck can lie comfortably on his bed, observing Mark while he does his work, a quiet comfortable silence stretching between the two of them. 

 

For once, they genuinely indulge and wholesomely allow themselves to enjoy each other’s company. 

 

For once, Mark realises, as he briefly glances at the guard dozing off, he clicks with someone his age. As if he found his soulmate. 

  
  
  
  


The candle burns low, and Mark stretches his arms, cracking his neck and twisting his body to get rid of the hard knots. He packs the parchment carefully into scrolls, and sets them aside. 

 

“Finally done?” A soft voice whispers out into the darkness, and Mark glances over at the illuminated face of the bleary-eyed guard. 

 

“Yea.” Mark answers, walking over to the guard’s bed. The guard forces himself to sit up, and despite his sleepy state, mumbles and forces Mark to sit on his bed, while he sits behind him cross legged, finger working wonders on the tough knots. 

 

Mark closes his eyes in exhaustion and relief, allowing the nimble fingers to work their way through the tight knots on his shoulders, relaxing into Donghyuck’s touch. 

 

It is not until Donghyuck’s fingers accidentally touch the bare skin of his neck, and his breath fans over the exposed skin, asking if it’s alright, does scenes of his mistress and him flash in his mind, unceremoniously hurling him back to reality. He flinches and abruptly pulls away, heart beating hard in his chest, while Donghyuck looks at him in alarm. 

 

“I’m sorry, did I do something wrong? Are you okay? What’s wrong- Oh  _ no _ , hey, I’m sorry. Mark, Mark!” 

  
  


Mark just stares at Donghyuck, bewildered as tears stream down his face. It’s been a long time since someone asked if he was okay, if he was holding up, if he was fine emotionally. Or maybe, it has something to do with the concerned eyes of Donghyuck and the nonsensical rambling the other had as he panicked. The fact that someone cared that they had something wrong  _ to him _ , has Mark shaking. 

 

Before he knows it, he is engulfed into a hug as he slumps to the floor, his head cradled between Donghyuck’s arms as he sniffles, still stiff with shock. Donghyuck mumbles soft words into his ear, gently wiping away the traces of tears on Mark’s cheeks, careful in his handling. Mark just stares at him with glassy eyes, still shocked and not sure how to respond. 

 

The only other person who had comforted him in such a way, was Ah Ma, and she is dead. His mistress had simply left him to cry on the bed by himself after each session. His masters, beating him up when a drop fell. 

  
  
  


Mark forces Donghyuck to stay on the bed with him, sniffling softly as he lies on Donghyuck’s lap, playing with the red bracelet, as Donghyuck hums, combing through Mark’s hair. Warmth seeps through Mark as he hears Donghyuck’s light tune, lulling him to sleep. 

 

It’s a beautiful tune, a children’s song. Come to think of it, it holds some sadness in its beauty as well. Just like him. Just like Donghyuck. 

 

“ 

两只老虎，两只老虎 

(two tigers, two tigers)

跑得快，跑得快。

(they run fast, they run fast)

一只没有耳朵，一只没有尾巴，

(one has no ears, the other has no tail)

真奇怪，真奇怪。

(how strange, how strange)

” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> seriously though does anyone ever think about how morbid our children's rhymes are???? like my childhood just gets ruined every time i think about it


	4. 4287 LIGHT FILTERS, (THEY) SEEP THROUGH PARCHMENT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rlly tired rn, will probably add some notes later. 
> 
> thankyou for your comments and kudos!! im glad this baby fic is getting so much love :) 
> 
> hmu on [tumblr](https://tenecity.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/tenecty)
> 
> and ask me qns on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me) :)

**FOUR———4287 LIGHT FILTERS, (THEY) SEEP THROUGH PARCHMENT**

 

 

Needless to say, this little game Donghyuck has created for the two of them, has proven to be very effective and while they still got on each other’s nerves, they grew closer and it was teasing tones, not tones of distaste and annoyance. 

 

“I can’t believe you like dumplings more than xiao long bao!” Donghyuck says exasperatingly as they speed walk to the King’s quarters. They had been notified earlier, to report there as soon as possible, after their lessons. 

 

“I can’t believe, that  _ you _ actually  _ like _ green tea. As if you are some ancient uncle!” Mark says exasperatingly, completely appalled by the younger’s poor taste in food. 

 

The servants and eunuchs that scurry after them always have a hard time trying to contain their giggles. 

 

“Says the one who hates ketchup. How rude of you to reject the nice Persian man’s invention!” 

 

“It’s not even his invention, dumb. It was some Westerners’ invention. And it tasted horrible.” Mark says, rolling his eyes as he wrinkles his nose in disgust. 

 

That afternoon, they had a Persian man come in for some exchange cultural programme and since he was at the palace to visit some old friends of his, he came to expose the noble students to the Western cuisine, which Mark hated with every inch of his body. 

 

“It did not.” 

 

“It did.” 

 

“Didn’t.” 

 

“Did.” 

 

The eunuch behind them couldn’t control it any longer and burst out into laughter, the rest of them all following as they giggle at the bickering youngsters. Mark rolls his eyes and quickened his pace, mouth twitching while Donghyuck glares after him, yelling something about the unfairness of god when he distributed leg lengths. 

  
  


Mark nods at the guard who knocks on the door for them, and Ten calls them in, whilst the two of them still glare at each other, but laced with no menace. 

  
  


“Very well indeed.” Doyoung muses as he stares sharp at the two. Donghyuck shrinks from his gaze, while Mark stares back unfazed, his mouth tilted up slightly at his favourite teacher. 

 

Doyoung isn’t actually his official teacher, but the two became close as Doyoung took great time and effort to hone Mark’s skills. 

 

Donghyuck drops to the floor, while Mark merely bows a ninety degrees; both immediately excused. 

 

“Please.” Kun says politely, indicating the seat opposite him, in which Mark does so, while Donghyuck crosses over to stand next to Johnny, still glaring at Mark but with a slight smile on his lips. 

 

Johnny can’t count the number of times Donghyuck had complained about how rude and sarcastic the other was sometimes, and yet sometimes can remain so silent it was frustrating, and how good he is with the sword, how smart he is with his words, so on and so forth. Johnny is tired of listening to the younger rant and he can vaguely feel the frustration Doyoung felt when he and Ten weren’t talking. 

  
  


“Mark, you have been here for about six months already; how do you find it?” Ten asks, as Kun graciously pours the younger some tea. During the six months of his stay, Mark had respectfully picked up some royal manners, and holds his cup with both hands, thanking Kun immediately. In a way, he was easier to handle as compared to Ten during his younger years. Donghyuck had better be thankful. 

 

“It’s okay, my King.” He mutters against the cup. Despite the hardcore educating during the six months and his brightness, Mark still can’t quite wrap his head around using royal language; and it doesn’t help that he spends half his time with Doyoung, making it even worse. 

 

Ten hums in reply, watching the other cautiously sip tea. 

  
  


“I was actually wondering, if you would like to be the prince of China.” 

 

Mark coughs out his tea, Donghyuck unable to hold back a snicker. Johnny shoots him a glare, and the smile dies, the younger looking sheepish. 

 

“I’m sorry…?” 

 

“In other words, I was wondering if you would like me to adopt you. If you do not want to, I will not force you; I would simply like to let you know that this is how I have been thinking.” Ten says slowly, wanting to ensure that the words sink in. 

 

Mark fiddles with his clothes. “But I’m not a royal….” 

 

“And neither was I. I do not need an answer now; I only request you think about it. Will that suit you?” Ten asks carefully, not wanting to pressurise the teenager. 

 

“Yea…” Mark trails off, his eyes searching for Donghyuck’s, uneasiness practically radiating off him. Donghyuck simply holds his gaze with comfort and warmth, the sarcasm and mischief played down. 

 

“Alright, then, you may go. And Guard Lee?” Ten calls and Donghyuck straightens, inclining his head. 

 

“Please, do this on my behalf, and take good care of Mark. You know the ways of the royals more than he does; please, watch out for him.” Donghyuck nods rapidly, and bows deeply. They are excused after, Mark’s eyebrows furrowing deep. 

  
  
  


“Well?” Donghyuck says, as they walk far enough from the room. 

 

“I...don’t know.” His mind is whirling with emotions and thoughts. 

 

On one hand, while he is eternally grateful to the King, he thinks back of all the things he has done: murdered, helped with trafficking, cheating, stealing, tainted and used. He is far from the pureness of a person to take on the honour of being a King. He is far from  _ enough _ . He is too ugly, his heart so full of scars and crimes, his hands stained with so much blood, his conscience constantly biting on him. He can’t be a King. 

 

“What’s wrong?” 

 

“I am not fit to be King.” Mark answers as soon as they step into the comfort and privacy of their room. 

 

“But you’re smart, you’re fast, you have excellent rapport and attitude with the villagers. You would make a good King, Mark.” Donghyuck says so earnestly, that Mark’s heart breaks. 

 

The other gives him such high respect and while they bicker and taunt each other, Mark knows the younger looks up to him, a standard he wants to live up to. Someone he thinks is so good at everything. Perfection. 

 

Mark wants to scream that he is not, he is not,  _ he is not _ . He is a monster, and he knows it. What is worse, is that no one knows the ugly side of him. The side of him so broken beyond repair.  _ He can’t be King.  _

  
  


“Mark. Mark! Hey!” Donghyuck snaps his fingers in front of Mark’s face. “You okay?” He asks, settling into the chair next to the noble. 

 

Mark bites his bottom lip. Of course he isn’t. But he isn’t going to say it.

 

“Hey, look, if you don’t want to be, you don’t have to be. You know that, right?” Donghyuck says gently, patting Mark’s shoulder. 

 

“Yea.” Mark breathes out, closing his eyes as he rubs his temples. “Yea.” 

  
  
  
  


Mark speaks less, and he starts to redraw and become quieter, as per his older days. He stares, and thinks and yet, can not come up with a method that will expose his deeds and still, have him gain favour with the royals. 

 

He breathes in deep as he plasters a smile on his face as he enters one of the villages, following close behind the King. Can’t have them wondering why he looks so forlorn.

 

They walk through the village, Mark quietly making observations. At least this village have access to the nearby river and have their own livestock. They paddy fields reach for miles, but the core problem is that there is no proper water integration, and the crop yield is low with only one harvesting cycle. Hence, Kun is here with a few other officials to explain how to create proper pipes and drains. Mark, is here as a part of this project as well, since he drew up the plans for the them. 

 

And just when he thinks things are going smoothly, does chao ensue. 

 

“You! You, you, you. Monster!” A woman amongst the crowd of villagers surrounding them is pushing past the circle of guards around the royals and officials, pointing at a person amongst all of them. Mark follows the direction of her shaking finger, only to trace it back to him. 

 

Then, he recognises her. That look in her eyes. That scar. That smile. That gem pinned to her shirt. 

 

“You killed my son, my husband, everyone! Give them back to me. Give, them, back!” She is screaming hysterically now, and besides her screams, there is not a single sound, silence stretching out as they watch with bated breath. 

 

Mark simply blinks at her, his fist clenched, his heart beating fast, as if this was a nightmare coming to reality. 

 

Good thing the guards are strong, holding her back. 

 

“You traitor! Now you live a good life, you let everything burn to the ground! Infidel! Low blood! The cursed gem indeed! My sister was right, and so were the elders; never let the Hostages infiltrate; they will only ruin us.” She shouts through gritted teeth, her grisly hair falling over her face. Mark stands stricken, frozen to the spot. Now everyone knows. 

 

Donghyuck pulls Mark behind him, a hand on his sword, his eyes hard as he narrows them at the woman. The guards become more alert, following the younger’s stance, that even Johnny has stepped forward, his fingers brushing over the red rubies embedded in the dagger. 

 

“Please, mind your language.” Donghyuck says calmly, holding a straight gaze with the wild eyes of the woman. 

 

“I will  _ not _ . You royals destroyed my  _ entire _ family. Are you happy now? Killing innocents? And then taking a murderer under your roof?” 

 

Her allegations spurt murmurs through the crowd as everyone points and stares at the noble, who closes his eyes, breathing heavily. 

  
  


“My people, please, calm down. Guards, please escort the woman and we shall have some investigations and questionings.” The guards do as they are told, eyes shifting a little as they guide the hysterical woman to one of the horses. 

 

“I do not believe any of us are in the mood to discuss any further in this atmosphere,” Ten looks at the villagers and village chief who nod in agreement, “and we shall organise another visit as soon as possible. I’m sorry, Chief, that we will have to inconvenience you.” Ten bows deep, and the villagers are all flustered, immediately getting down on their knees. 

 

A nudge in his ribs has Mark flushing as he bows as well, staying down longer, before he is tugged up and pulled away from the crowd, eyes blank as Donghyuck’s fingers wrap around the his arm, fingers brushing on the inside of his arm. 

  
  
  
  


He stares blankly, fingers fidgeting with his pin as he takes a deep breath, the tip of the needle at the back of it, pricking his skin and flows crimson. 

 

“Mark!” Donghyuck calls, seeing the blood drip on the floor, bewildered. He fusses immediately, taking a cloth to press the wound, extracting the pin from Mark’s fingers. His eyes eventually wander up the other boy’s face, heart aching for the empty stares. 

 

“Mark, pay no mind to what that lady said, we all know it’s false-” 

  
  


“It’s not, is it?” A voice rings through the hall, and Donghyuck jumps, wincing as he sees the Imperial Secretary come through, a deep frown on his face and an unpleasant twist on his lips. He is followed by Kun, Ten and Johnny, all of whom mirror the same expression. 

 

Mark stays mum, eyes instead training on the floor, hands clasped before him. The position of submission. He swallows his tears, his pride, his need to shout that  _ he too was a victim _ . To beg for forgiveness. He will not go down to that level. He doesn’t want to, though he may have to. 

 

“It is why you have those nightmares, am I right?” Doyoung continues, completely nonchalant to the tight expression on Mark’s face. 

 

“When they suspected there was something more to you, I, alone, defended you and told them it is not true. And yet, look at what we found?” Doyoung throws scrolls on the table, loosening them as they open up to show their contents, Donghyuck’s eyes scanning them, while Mark doesn’t even pay them a glance. 

 

“The Red Rubies? That is where you learnt your skills, am I right? Where you learnt to fight with such ease and grace. Where you learnt the inner workings of an internal economy. A corrupt one.” Doyoung lowers his voice dangerously, planting both hands on the wooden table as he leans forward. Still, Mark does not budge. 

 

“We all know what the Red Rubies have done. And I just wonder, how much of it you participated; how many crimes have you committed? What kind of crimes did you commit?” This, riles Mark up slightly. His face changes just a little, flinching, his fingers clenching. 

 

“Yet, we are benevolent, and hence, no matter how horrible your past is, we still want to hear your side of the story because clearly,” Doyoung stands straight, and Donghyuck lets out a breath he never knew he was holding, “that woman is of no straight mind.” 

  
  


He seats himself in the chair opposite Mark, and the rest take their seats as well, all eyes on Mark, who remains blank and stony, still unwilling. 

  
  


“We are waiting.” Doyoung sarcastically sing songs, glaring at the younger, drumming his fingers on the chair, impatient. Time is ticking, and they don’t have much to waste. 

 

Mark bites his bottom lip, eye shifting. Does he tell the truth? Or does he just keep quiet and wait for them to throw him back out on the streets? What will he do then? If he tells them the truth, and maybe try to justify, they may at least pity him and keep him in the palace. He doesn’t want to go back out there, back to the old life, flipping back to the old pages. 

  
  


Mark swallows hard and stares at the table. “Okay Okay. It’s a very long story, but….here it is.” 

 

“When I was six, I was orphaned. The Red Rubies burned my house and killed everyone but me. They kept me to run their errands, and then because I was our master’s favourite, he upgraded me to the rank of a section leader. I…...I, I,” Mark swallows, blinking away tears and he feels Donghyuck shift behind him uncomfortably. 

 

“I did exactly what you would have heard about the Red Rubies. Burnt down houses, sold women and children, killed the men. I sometimes took part, sometimes I oversaw it.” 

 

“How old were you, then?” Ten asks, gently. 

 

“Thirteen to fifteen.” 

 

“So young? And they let you handle such major operations?” Doyoung questions, eyebrows raised. 

 

“I was paired with older counterparts. And then, when I was fifteen, I was….” Mark swallows hard, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. Donghyuck squeezes his fist hard, and he yearns to hug Mark and tell him he is okay; but the piercing eyes of the Imperial Secretary stop him, or perhaps because he knows, some things, you have to do alone.

 

“I was sent to the house of the sister of my master. I helped her with accounting and organising the servants etc, like her secretary. That is where I learnt about the economy etc.

 

“But I wasn’t just there for counting her money. I was...I was there,” Mark takes a deep breath and squeezes his eyes shut. “For her sexual pleasure.” He says this so softly, no one would have heard it. But the room is still quiet, and every word sunk in like a needle into flesh. Ten is already on his feet, engulfing Mark in a hug. 

 

Mark buries his face into the royal’s robes and sobs. The years he couldn’t cry, the short time he had with Ah Ma, was never enough to fully relieve him of his anguish. He hated himself. He was tainted, ugly, and dirty. Or so he thought he was. Ten cards his fingers through his hair, allowing the locks to fall in the spaces between his fingers, whispering softly, gentle and melodic in Mark’s ears. 

 

Johnny leans back on his chair, closing his eyes as he rubs his temples, hiding a boiling rage in him. And to think that they have done a good job at getting rid of underaged prostitution. Doyoung simply stares, stoned with shock as he lets it sink in, his rage-filled facade, melting away as he takes in the situation. Kun is mumbling to himself about the history of Red Rubies or something, not really making sense. 

 

Donghyuck, stands rooted at his spot, eyes wide with shock as they turn glassy, heart aching for his noble. Was that what Mark went through? He was fifteen! This is where the nightmares come from, why Mark jumps at the slightest of touches, why he vomited the other night. Everything now slowly falls into place, and Donghyuck feels like throwing up. But he suppresses the burning bile in his throat, not wanting to make the situation any worse. 

  
  


Eventually, Ten manages to calm Mark down, fingers rubbing circles on the back of Mark’s hand, encouraging him softly. His voice cracks and sounds hoarse due to the sobbing, but he persists. The worst is over. Now for the rest of the story. 

 

“But then, the royal guards raided her house. I escaped with a few others and returned to the headquarters, only to find my master dead. I-” Another sob threatens to burst and it does. The worst is not over, after all. 

 

He thinks of the charming smile Jeno has, the way the other boy did treat him with respect, despite his acute lack for humanity. Tears stream down his face as he soaks the royal’s robes once more, mumbling ‘sorry’s, which Ten soothes. 

 

“I don’t know why, but I killed him. That woman’s son. She is the sister of my master, and the mother of a boy of equal rank than me. I didn’t, I didn’t want any competition. I hate this. I hate myself.” Mark manages to say through gasps, dissolving into further tears. 

 

The room is dead quiet, as they understand what he is saying. They all know what it is like to be in the gangs. If you want to stay alive, there are only two ways: one, flush out your enemies or two, force them to pledge allegiance to you. Mark, so young, couldn’t possibly have the power to enforce loyalty. So then, the other way it is. 

  
  


“But then, the royals raided the headquarters. I escaped again, and went to the village, where you found me. I lived with the village chief’s wife, but she died.” Mark’s voice wobbles as he dissolves into tears again, shaking. 

  
  
  


The hearts break, and Kun leaves the room, stumbling out, unable to take it. Doyoung grips the armrest of his seat and runs his fingers through his hair, frustration boiling through him, the feeling, mutual for the King and his guard:  _ why must Fate be so unfair? _

  
  
  
  
  


It takes some time and effort, but eventually, they coax Mark into eating something, before putting the exhausted boy to bed. 

 

Doyoung, Ten and Johnny leave the room quietly, hands behind their backs, head bowed solemnly. 

 

“Please take care of him for the time being, Donghyuck. Let him rest in bed. Take him out for a walk once in a while, but don’t go near the interrogation rooms, is that clear?” Ten instructs, but gently, seeing the still shell-shocked expression of the young guard. 

 

“I’ll go find Kun.” Doyoung says tiredly, waving a goodbye to the rest, trudging off. The King sighs and nods a greeting to the young guard, intertwining his shaky fingers with his own guards, as they huddle in the sweeping winds, walking back to their quarters. 

  
  
  


Donghyuck sighs under his breath, running his fingers through his hair as he walks over to his bed and changes into more comfortable clothing. He relights a few dying candles, carefully removing the wax, ensuring that the room is well-lit. 

 

He is just lighting another candle, when he hears a whimper from the bed, and immediately spins around, only to see Mark’s wild, frightened eyes lock with his. Immediately, he snuffs the candle out, and rushes to the noble’s side, almost crashing into the other as he wraps his arms around Mark, comforting words already on his lips. 

 

No tears run down Mark’s face, but he still shivers and trembles as he buries his face into Donghyuck’s stomach, arms wrapped tightly around the younger’s torso, shoulders shakily moving up and down as he attempts to take deep breaths. 

 

Donghyuck cautiously brushes his thumb over Mark’s cheek, well aware that due to his past, Mark may not feel that comfortable with touches. And yet, surprisingly, not only does Mark not flinch, he even nuzzles his cheek into the touch, eyes closed. 

 

Donghyuck narrows his eyes at the movement, his eyes tracing over the other’s soft, and yet sharply defined features. Why did Fate have to play such a cruel trick on such a perfect boy? So smart, so strong, so witty, so charming. And still, he must carry all these burdens on his back. Donghyuck lets out a trembling breath. 

  
  


“I’m so, so sorry Mark.” He doesn’t know why he apologises; he himself being the very person to know that apologising does not help; it does not erase the past marks on them. 

 

Mark’s eyes meet his and he even has the strength to give a small smile. “It’s okay. I’m, I’m used to it. Just that today, I don’t know. Something about the way the Imperial Secretary looked at me, or the way the King hugged me just had me crying so much.” Donghyuck bites his lower lip, and averts his eyes, taking a deep breath. 

 

He knows, Mark would not want his pity; it would be another punch to his already diminished dignity. Still, his heart aches for the boy. No person should _ ever  _ get used to so much pain.

 

“It’s alright, Donghyuck. It’s fine.” Mark whispers as he soothingly traces circles on Donghyuck’s back as he pulls the guard closer, when he sees salty teardrops fall between the two of them. “It’s  _ okay _ .” 

 

Donghyuck just cries harder, head hung as he squeezes his eyes, allowing the tears to flow freely.  _ It’s so unfair.  _

 

Mark pulls Donghyuck down, levelling their faces with each other. He wipes away the tears, touched that the guard felt so much for him. “Hey, I already said it’s okay, stop crying, hmm?” Donghyuck just cries harder, scowling. 

  
  


“Who the hell tells someone to stop crying? I can’t help it!” Donghyuck says childishly, glassy eyes meeting Mark’s amused ones, in which invites another fresh round of tears. Mark cheekily feigns exasperation and pulls Donghyuck in for a hug, the younger practically on his lap now, burying his tear stained face into Mark’s neck.

 

Mark rubs Donghyuck’s tanned skin on his arm, slightly surprised that he doesn’t feel the choking feeling that he gets, every time someone touches him, or he touches someone.

 

Something about the way Donghyuck’s face is buried in his neck, the way his legs are thrown unceremoniously over his lap, the way the dark skin glows in the candle-lit room, has Mark’s heart racing fast in a different sort of way. 

 

He can still feel the tear drops slide down his neck and he wipes away the tickling trail and wipes Donghyuck’s puffy face. 

 

“Stop crying, cry baby.” Mark teases as Donghyuck pulls away and glares at him. 

 

“I’m not the cry baby;  _ you _ are the cry baby, cry baby.” Donghyuck pouts and retorts. 

 

Mark just laughs, and weakly attempts to push Donghyuck off him. “I see that you are all better already, so  _ please _ get off me, you’re so damn heavy. What did you eat?”

 

Donghyuck hops off his lap and crosses his arms, eyebrows furrowing. “I am  _ not _ heavy! I’m the lightest out of all the guards.” 

 

“That’s because you are the  _ youngest _ . You are fairly heavy for our age.” Mark points out, rolling his eyes. 

 

Donghyuck’s face twists as he mimics Mark’s expression, huffing as he dives under his covers, mumbling something about ‘so much for crying for you’. Mark simply laughs, and a bittersweetness settles into his chest. 

  
  


Silence stretches, and a question pops up in Mark’s brain, a question he has been itching to ask. 

 

“Hey Donghyuck?” He calls, and he hears a sleep-laced grunt. He tries not to laugh. 

 

“Who do you see me as?” Mark asks, his heart racing as each beat of silence passes. 

 

“What the hell is that question?” Donghyuck replies, sitting up as he rubs his eyes, folding his arms, angered that his beauty sleep has been interrupted by the most ridiculous question in the world. 

 

“Do you see me as a, a murderer, or thief, or trafficker, or criminal, or-” Mark rambles, but his words die on his lips when Donghyuck simply blinks at him, tilting his head. “No. You’re just Mark. The  _ irritating _ noble I protect.” Mark stares at him, mouth still open.  _ What? _ He doesn’t know whether to be touched or offended.

 

“Oh.” He eventually says, still staring at the guard. 

 

“Can we talk about this tomorrow? I’m dead tired and Commander Nakamoto wants all my reports by sun rise so...good night.” Donghyuck flops back down on his bed, snuggling into his sheets. Mark feels the corner of his mouth twitch.  _ Of course. _

  
  
  


He stares at the ceiling, warmth seeping through him as he strains his ears to listen for Donghyuck’s small puffs of breaths. 

 

He closes his eyes, slumber washing over him, waves guiding him in a gentle lull. 

 

A new chapter, begins. 

 

No more secrets; not anymore. 


	5. 5454 HIS BRUSH ON PARCHMENT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thankyou for all the comments and kudos thus far!! i love reading all of them and they always make my day :) this chap is one of the longest, and yet favourite chapters of mine,,so i hope yall enjoy this! 
> 
> side note: im travelling for the next 6 days so.....im so sorry!! i cant update till im back so see ya!! :)
> 
> i'll be active on [tumblr](https://tenecity.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/tenecty) though so if u need anything, i'm one dm away ;)

**FIVE** **———** **5454 HIS BRUSH ON PARCHMENT**

 

“What do you think?” Ten asks, twirling his brush as Johnny sits across him, hand perched on his palm.

 

“I think it would be good. Perhaps it can also teach the public to never do such things again. But….” Johnny trails off, meeting Ten’s eyes. 

 

“It would mean that Mark has to stand on trial too.” Ten finishes his sentence, quiet. 

 

He ponders over the issue at hand. As much as he would like to get to the bottom of this, weeding out all the Red Rubies and other gang affiliates so as to prevent them from restarting a rebellion and turning the country into chaos, it would be at the expense of people just like Mark; people, children, who have committed crimes that they were indoctrinated or forced to do. 

 

Where does the justice lie then? 

  
  


That, is a common question thrown during the court meetings as they begin the first of their trials for the remnants of the gang affiliates. Three months of tough searching, spying and finally arresting, had pooled together at least 100 other children who they call Hostages: children who were, in some ways, kidnapped when they were young, and grew up to work for the gangs they were kidnapped by. Another 30 were added to the pool, but these were blood related Red Rubies or gangsters, who were masterminds and knew exactly what they were doing. 

 

For this second group, it is easier. There is no complications of age, mental state, and abuse. These people are pure guilty; the judge, jury, royal court and public, happy to see them be thrown into the dungeons. 

 

For the first group however, many were split on the decision. 

 

On one hand, it cannot be brushed aside that these children did commit atrocious deeds. They trafficked people and drugs, committed murder and were essentially running an organisation that was treacherous and malicious. The argument brought forth by the prosecutors, is that these children could have stopped it, and could have retaliated. 

 

Mark rubs his temples, furrowing his brows as he sits at the witness stand. He has no resistance and gave full cooperation, not the least minding when Ten had told him that he too, must go on trial, as well as be a witness. 

 

“My dear sir,” Mark speaks through gritted teeth, blazing eyes cutting through the room as the court fell silent. “Did you actually think we could possibly defy our masters? I have seen at least ten Hostages, children of no more than fourteen, bravely standing up for the victim’s rights. And what of that? You have seen it for yourselves! Their heads lie on the stake, their ashes sink to the ground as they are burned alive. 

 

“I am not suggesting that we are clean of any guilt, because I believe that to a certain extent, we indeed, are guilty of the crimes you accuse us of. But, the suggestion that we could possibly defy orders is completely ridiculous and just goes to show, your Honour,” he turns to the judge, “how little you know of the inner workings of the Red Ruby.”

  
  
  


“Very eloquent, he is.” Kun comments to Doyoung quietly, as the prosecutor, flustered, tries to regain ground. Doyoung merely hums. “Very brave as well. I have new found respect for the kid.” Donghyuck smiles a little at Mark’s passionate statement, and at the words of the two nobles. That’s  _ his _ Mark they are talking about. 

  
  
  
  


“Okay?” Donghyuck asks as he cautiously swipes Mark’s skin with a warm, moist cloth. The end of the day is always the worst, because the statistics and reality of what they have done, is cruelly thrown back into Mark’s face. The memories he so wanted to forget, thrown right back at him as the prosecutors list crime after crime. 

 

“Yea.” Mark breathes out, eyes trained on Donghyuck as he wills himself to not think of the trial,  _ his  _ own trial, tomorrow. 

 

“You know,” Donghyuck continues as he moves the cloth up to Mark’s neck, lifting his chin up slightly in order to properly clean it. “No matter what the verdict is, I’ll still be your guard, right?” Mark catches his eye and is surprised at the amount of sincerity in it. 

 

“Yea.” He says simply, averting his eyes away. 

 

“Will probably miss your annoying ass when you go to the dungeons.” Donghyuck lightly jokes as he places the cloth back into the water. He is given a hard shove and he falls, splashing the water on his clothes. He glares at the laughing noble, gritting his teeth as he takes a little water and splashes it back at Mark. 

 

And that is how the King and his guard finds him, barely amused as the water splashes on the King’s precious face, trying hard to suppress their giggles as Donghyuck and Mark kowtow and beg for mercy. 

  
  


-

  
  
  
  


“The offender is suspected to be guilty of these charges. 

For the murderous raids of Hongshan and Jialing provinces’ villages. 

For the trafficking of opium and other forms of drugs, that could likely amount to 10kg. 

For the trafficking of children and women, from China to Persia, that could likely account for 1000 missing children. 

For the embezzlement of royal funds, that could likely amount to 10 000 copper coins. 

He has confessed to killing at least two nobles, names of which he cannot and does not remember.

 

However, the criminal was subjected to: 

Emotional abuse, as his captors killed his parents; he was forced to watch the deaths of many of his batchmates, and had narrowly survived violent raids. 

Child labour, from the ages of six to sixteen, this including cleaning the houses, waiting on his masters and prostitution. 

Sexual abuse, as the prostitution was non-consensual and the criminal was then underaged.” 

 

The official finishes reciting off his scroll, and seats back down, Mark letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. There it was, in less than a few words, his entire life story laid out in front of everyone, the court, officials, royals, nobles, the public, the King, and Donghyuck. 

 

He catches the younger’s eye, who simply gives him a small, assuring smile, as if none of those crimes listed meant anything. Mark finds himself unable to look away, as if if he did, he would lose all his strength. 

  
  
  
  
  


“The jury shall now make a decision, and as a judge, here I shall advice. 

 

“No doubt, the offender committed a number of treacherous crimes and has contributed to the gang in some way or another. But may I highlight, once again, the young age of the offender, the mannerism in which he participated, in which he was more, serving his master, than on the actual field, treating the commoners with the disrespect we are well acquainted to. The abuse he suffered from should also be taken into consideration.” The judge says this in a clear, loud voice, so that the people gathered at the door of the court and outside on the yard can here this too. 

  
  
  


“The jury shall now make it’s verdict.” A man stands and says, after an agonising hour. 

 

“With a 4 to 5 vote, the jury declares the offender, guilty.” 

  
  
  


The word rings high and clear and a hush falls onto the grounds, until the commoners start making noises, shouting at the unfairness of the system, asking for a repeal. Mark says nothing, merely nodding his head while the King raises his eyebrows, an unpleasant twist on his lips. 

 

“However, the offender shall have a light sentence, with no need to serve his time in the prisons. He shall have to, however, pay the 10 000 copper coins-” 

 

“That is ridiculous, Official Tan.” Doyoung jumps from his seat, glaring. Murmurs burst through the crowd again, but Doyoung does not back down. “He is only a child; how can he pay for his debt?” 

 

The official narrows his eyes, but cannot say anything in retaliation. The judge hits the wooden table with his block, silencing the crowd. He motions for Doyoung to sit down, in which the Imperial Secretary does so, albeit grudgingly. 

 

“He shall not hold any noble title, until pardoned,” the King’s eyebrows knit further together, and Johnny has to put his hand on Ten’s shoulder to calm him down. “And he shall be prohibited from receiving education from the palace. He may receive education from outside institutions. The offender must kowtow to the people one hundred times-” another murmur bursting out, a shout saying  _ ‘that is ridiculous!’, _ but the official pays no heed, “In accordance to the number of children and women which he had trafficked. This is our final verdict.” The official takes his seat again, and even the officials of similar rank are frowning at the verdict. 

 

They all love the child. Mark has been nothing but kind to the eunuchs and pleasant to the servants. He showed nothing but kindness and respect to the people, and even those in the village where the hysterical woman had an outburst, had pitied him and understood that none of this could be his fault. 

  
  


A man steps forward, pushing past the disgruntled guards’ weak attempts to hold him back, and kneels on the floor. “Your Honour, must we still convict anymore of these children? They had no choice, my lord. No choice!” A chorus of voices follow behind him, as the people begin to chant “Not guilty, not guilty!” 

 

The judge furrows his brows and looks towards the King. But that is the problem with their system; the King has no power in the court. It was to ensure fairness and to ensure justice is served no matter your ranking or power; yet at times like this, Ten wishes he could have a shortcut to spare Mark. 

  
  


Mark watches the scenes before him; the stony faced jury, the annoyed defender arguing, the judge looking lost, the royals looking distraught; the people shouting and cursing at the justice system; and then, there was his guard, the smoothness and calmness in his eyes. He knows what Donghyuck would say; “If you agreed to have the trial, you must be willing to pay the price for the consequences.” and would then, probably, annoyingly shrug with that smirk on his face because he knows, he is  _ right. _

  
  


Mark stands, and raises his hand, silencing the court and the people. 

 

“I am very thankful and heartened to have your support. But, we cannot forget that I have indeed committed harsh crimes-” in which there was another uproar, but he raises his hand to quieten them down, “and I must pay the price for it. The jury is already lenient on me. I will submit to their authority, and follow according to the repercussions stated. As for whether we should continue such trials, your Majesty, I do recommend serious deliberation.

 

“Many of the Hostages were not as fortunate as I was. I was among the favourite of my master, and received slightly better treatment. Other Hostages suffered from verbal and physical abuse, and could not escape their fate, even if they tried. 

 

“A case-by-case basis should be conducted for justice to be served; but may I recommend rehabilitation, therapy and consultation, for the benefit of these Hostages, that such a thing should never happen again. Education, my Lord, is crucial. The Red Rubies were smart, but they were not educated. They had no morales, no understanding of humanity. Those lessons, can only be taught through true education.” 

 

The court and the people grow quiet, hanging on his every word. They watch him handle his punishment with ease and grace, and yet, still fulfill his role as a noble, their King’s ward, displaying full knowledge of practical solutions, serving fair justice and yet, retain humanity. Even the jury is surprised as their expressions change and they nod to what he says. 

  
  


It is no longer a trial, but a people, listening to what a young man has to say, their potential ruler. And they approve as the crowd breaks out in applause and approvals, the King smiling slightly, nodding.

 

The court adjourns amicably, and Kun is quick to come and note down all of Mark’s ideas, praising him for such knowledge and maturity. Mark glances up, just to catch a wink of Donghyuck’s, before turning away to converse with Kun, trying hard to keep a cool facade, albeit failing as the corner of his lips twitch up. 

  
  
  


The first of his very punishments begin the next day. He is stripped of his silk-linen clothing, given cheap cotton, white clothes as he is brought to the marketplace, on a platform, and begins to kowtow, a guard marking his tablet as he faithfully counts. 

 

Mark thinks, not of the embarrassment, not of the cries of his people, not of the scornful looks he is given and curses thrown at him. He thinks of the women and children, he thinks of the innocent brown eyes that looked up to him as he passed by, watching that child be thrown into a cage and auctioned the next day. 

 

He bows, and knocks his head against the marble plate set for him, placed to evoke maximum pain. And when he rises, his eyes only search for one thing. They catch sight of the pin his mother gave him, hanging loosely on Donghyuck’s clothes, his guard showing no signs of pity, simply giving him a small smile, as if to encourage him, his gold plated tablet sitting gently on the curve of his wrist, reflecting the glowing sun. 

  
  


He struggles to get up, but he cannot be helped, and he limps back down the platform, Doyoung doesn’t give a damn and winces as he half carries him back to the palace, Donghyuck close behind, fingers brushing against his damp back.

 

Donghyuck drops by the physicians to grab the herbs that Kun has already ordered the staff to prepare, and returns to the room, only to see the Imperial Secretary already fussing over the bruises and how ugly they would look. 

 

Doyoung moves aside once Donghyuck has prepared the medication and he gently cleans the bleeding knees and bruises, pressing the mesh of herbs and a little water on the blue and purple. Mark winces slightly, flinching. “Ow, ow! Damn it Hyuck, do you have to press that hard?” He glares at the guard, who then purposefully presses at a particularly bad spot just a tad bit harder to make a point. 

 

“Hey, I’m doing all the damn work here, so will you please-” 

 

“Tsk, tsk, children nowadays.” Doyoung clicks his tongue in amusement and the bickering dies down into sheepish glances. “Drop all formalities, I see? Just like our King and Guard Seo. Speaking of which, I have a meeting soon. I shall make my leave, gentlemen.” And with a graceful swoop of his blue robes, he exits, muttering something about his non-affinity to love. 

 

Donghyuck raises his eyebrows in amusement and Mark bursts out into laughter, accidentally knocking the edge of the bed and he winces again. Donghyuck rolls his eyes as he continue to apply the ailment on the different areas, humming some tune. 

 

“Close your eyes.” Donghyuck says as he raises the cloth, preparing to apply the medication on the bruise forming on his forehead. Donghyuck himself winces as Mark’s eyelashes flutter shut, looking carefully at the wound, before biting his lip as he tenderly treats it. He hisses under his breath at the broken vessels beneath the skin and Mark smiles a little, his fingers just barely brushing Donghyuck’s hipbone to hold the other still. 

 

Donghyuck flinches a little, before flushing as Mark cracks open an eye in question. He pretends not to see it and focuses on the wound, instead of the small circles drawn on his hips. To think that Mark had a fear towards touches; and yet all seems to dissipate in the presence of his guard. 

 

When the guard is done washing the cloths and putting the medication properly into a silver container, he undoes the pin on his shirt and pins it back onto Mark’s robes which will be worn tomorrow. 

  
“It’s pretty.” Donghyuck mumbles. 

 

“Hmm?” Mark hums as he looks up from his desk, always still writing. It could be the last days for him, to have hold on these books provided by the palace. 

 

“The pin.” Donghyuck replies as he arranges his bed, slipping under the covers. 

 

“Yea. It was my mother’s. She gave it to me, before they killed her.” Mark says softly, eyes trained on the guard, who looks back at him with soft eyes. Eyes void of pity, just simple interest in his life story. No matter how ugly the pages seem, Donghyuck seems mesmerised by the ink spills and creases, not the least disgusted by Mark’s past. 

 

“That’s like my bracelet.” Donghyuck says easily, lifting his tanned wrist to show the gold pendent dangling from it. 

 

“Your mum gave it to you?” Mark asks as he dabs his brush in ink and copies more words. 

 

“No. My dad did. But he didn’t give it to me when he was dying. It’s a birth gift. Like gifts they give to a child when they are born.” 

 

“What does it say?” Mark asks, remembering the glimpse he got of the words on the gold pendent. 

 

“ 楷灿 (kai chan) or Haechan. It means, the full sun. It’s kind of like my nickname. My dad used to call me that all the time.” Donghyuck says softly, fingers tracing over the pendent, the engraved letters felt under the brush of his fingertips. 

 

“That’s nice.” Mark replies, biting the inside of his cheek.  _ Really _ nice, because it just explains who Donghyuck is; the fullest of the suns, glowing brightly amidst the darkness, not the least dimmed by any form of shadow. 

  
  
  
  
  


“You want to what?” Yuta looks up from his paperwork, sharp eyes narrowing as the young guard shifts his weight from foot to foot. “I want to collect this year’s salary early.” 

 

“And why, may I ask, Guard Lee?” Yuta says as he frowns, putting down the brush as he frowns deep, creases cutting his smooth forehead. 

 

“I….” 

 

“If this is about Noble Mark Lee, I am not hearing it.” Yuta says, turning back to his work, ignoring Dongyuck’s pleas. 

 

“Please, please, please, Commander Nakamoto! Plus this year’s salary, it would make a total of 1000 copper coins. It would help him a lot. He has  _ nothing _ , Commander. Nothing. How is he going to reply such a large amount in such a short amount of time?” Donghyuck is on his knees, pleading earnestly. 

 

Yuta sighs. “It is not that I do not want to help your noble, Guard Lee. But if this is found out by the court, it may be rejected.” 

 

“Why?” Donghyuck asks. 

 

“Because they want it from him-” 

 

“If I give it to him, it  _ becomes _ his.” Donghyuck rationalises. 

 

Yuta narrows his eyes and huffs, still contemplating. 

 

“Give it to the child, Yuta.” A soft voice calls from the doorway, and Yuta looks up, immediately breaking into a smile. “Sicheng!” 

 

“Commander Dong.” Donghyuck greets, heart beating a little faster in expectation. Dong Sicheng is well known for turning Yuta’s decisions around in the fastest time possible, so Donghyuck has hope. 

 

“Give the money to the child. Let him do something for his noble. It’s how guards build a relationship with their masters.” Sicheng explains, patting Yuta’s shoulder, giving him the most angelic smile. Yuta just melts and rubs his temples, unable to hide a growing smile.

 

“Fine, fine, fine. But if anything goes wrong, it is  _ not _ my fault.”

  
  


-

  
  
  


“Please, please, please, Foreign Minister! I’ve always heard of how rich the Persians are, and they like you so, so much. If you just ask they give a little….” Donghyuck trails off as he begs Kun to use his charming personality to ask for a little money from the Persians. 

 

“I can’t, child. That is pure bribery.” He glances at the pout on Donghyuck’s lips and huffs goodnaturedly. Who could resist? 

 

“But, I have another idea.” Kun says with a glint in his eyes, laughing as Donghyuck jumps to hug him, both completely unaware of the sour look on a passing noble’s face. 

  
  


People keep streaming into the Foreign Minister’s office, adding money to the little box they have put on Kun’s desk, telling Kun about how much faith they have in Mark, and how he is so eloquent, so fit for a King. Kun smiles and thanks them as he counts the money with Donghyuck during the night, locking them in a safe. Using his connections and angelic smile, Kun had spread word of a fund they are setting up for the noble, and it was received well by many as they generously gave. 

 

_ Apparently _ , Yuta has been lying, and there is nothing  _ wrong, _ with helping to pay off someone’s debt (to which Donghyuck scowls and Yuta looks sheepish as Kun gives him a pointed look). 

  
  
  


“I’m not going to take it.” Mark says with a glare, staring at the simple wooden box like it is the most offensive thing in the world. They managed to raise to a whopping amount of 7000, added with Donghyuck’s generous contribution, it gives them a grand 8000. 

 

“Why not?” Donghyuck’s smile falls as he looks forlorn. 

 

“I’m not taking pity money.” Mark huffs as he turns his heel, walking away, Donghyuck running after him. 

  
  


“It’s not pity money, Mark.” He whines. He has been whining all day to the elder, still trying to convince the other to accept it, using his best acts of cuteness as Mark tries his hardest to ignore his guard, speedily copying away. 

 

The guards were coming tomorrow, to take away his books, and he wants them copied as much as possible. Who knows, when will the next time be, for him to have the luxury of affording them. Sure, if he asked the King, Ten would gladly give him money to buy the books. But he doesn’t want the King’s help. He doesn’t _ want _ to owe anybody anything. 

 

“Fine, I’ll accept the 7000, but your 1000, take it back. I don’t want it.” Mark finally compromises, sighing as he looks at Donghyuck, only to see the younger pouting. 

 

“What?” He says indignantly. 

 

“Why?” Donghyuck frowns and starts whining again, giving Mark a headache. He wonders if there ever  _ is _ an off button for the guard.

 

“Because,” Mark explains exasperatingly, “I don’t want  _ your _ money. You earned this. You can’t just randomly give it away to anyone.” Mark says as he clears his throat, averting his eyes from the growing pout and puppy eyes. 

 

“I’m not ‘randomly giving it away to anyone’. I’m giving it to you.” Donghyuck says earnestly and Mark gives an exasperated sound. “No means  _ no _ , Lee Donghyuck. End of discussion. I don’t want your money.” 

 

“You’re so mean to me. I just wanted to help!” Donghyuck changes a hundred and eighty degree turn, jumping from his seat in anger. “Why do you treat me differently?” 

 

Mark bites his lips. He doesn’t know why either. 

 

From what he’s heard, the 1000 is everything Donghyuck has.  _ Everything _ . Without it, he is penniless and if something happens, what will he do then? And, something about the boy giving everything up for Mark has him nauseous. He can’t stand the idea of it. 

 

“I hate you.” Donghyuck rages childishly as he hits Mark’s shoulder with his fist, stalking out of the room, leaving Mark to sigh as he watches him go and rant to the other guards, quite unable to concentrate on the Chinese characters after. 

  
  
  


It is deep into the night when Donghyuck slips back in, sniffles waking up the light sleeper. Mark sighs as he quietly watches Donghyuck get dressed, the moonlight seeping into the room, making his tanned back glow, the muscles expanding and contracting as the boy hastily gets rid of his clothes and puts on more comfortable ones. 

 

Mark debates, but another sniffle has him sighing as he drags himself out of bed, whispering a sorry to Donghyuck who just hits him with his fist again, Mark letting him do so. He cards the dark curly locks while Donghyuck rants about him to  _ him, _ and Mark hums in reply, as ridiculous as it may seem. 

 

Eventually, much to Mark’s distaste and to Donghyuck’s delight, they negotiate and Donghyuck donates 500 coins, grinning so widely, Mark can’t help the little smile on his lips. 

  
  
  


“I’m so damn brilliant.” Donghyuck says as he ends his rapidly said plan, staring at Johnny with bright eyes while the other half heartedly agrees.    
  
“It’s worth the try, though it would be difficult to have a day off, given that you are the King’s ward’s bodyguard.” 

 

Donghyuck smiles sweetly as he gives him the same set of puppy eyes he gives to anyone he wants to bribe. Johnny raises his eyebrows and his eyes widen. “If you think  _ for a second, _ that  _ I _ should be the one asking for you-” 

 

“Pleas, hyung!” He whines cutely, batting his eyelashes as he latches on to Johnny, the other nervously glancing at the King and his noble who are far too busy on the archery field. They pay their guards no mind and Johnny hisses in reply. “No! Are you kidding me? Commander Nakamoto will have my head.” 

 

“He can’t. You’re the King’s guard. You have King Ten’s protection. Please, hyung, please, please, please?” He persuades as he latches onto Johnny, practically clinging on him. Johnny gives the King an apologetic smile as Ten raises his eyebrows with a soft smile on his face, Mark rolling his eyes as he turns back to shoot at the board. Perfect ten.

 

“Ugh, fine, fine, fine. God, you owe me a lot, kid.” Johnny says brushing his clothes as he unceremoniously removes himself from Donghyuck’s tight grasp and the other cheers, laughing heartily. 

 

Johnny can’t contain his smile as he ruffles the younger’s hair, and then walks towards the King, raising his hands in surrender, saying ‘ _ not me, him!’ _ , thus eliciting a chuckle from the royal. Ten pulls Johnny’s collar and stands on tiptoes to press a fleeting kiss on the guard’s mouth, lightly tapping the burning cheeks, Mark’s own cheeks flaming at the public display of affection, regretting it instantaneously as Donghyuck teases him endlessly about it.

  
  
  
  


Donghyuck does get his day off, not without having a scowling, grumpy Mark send him off, waving a gruff goodbye before stalking back into the palace, annoyed with the younger. No books, no guard to annoy, boy was it going to be the boring-est day of his life. 

 

Donghyuck pays him no mind, skipping into the marketplace. With his beautiful smile, he coaxes an old man to lend him his guzheng, promising to split the money, half half. People stop as they watch and hear the lull of a honey voice merge with the beautiful tones of the guzheng, eyebrows raised as they find the silky voice coming from a boy. A little girl is the first to place her coin into the box, smiling as she danced to the tune.

 

Soon, another old man with an empty box of crates joins in as he hits a rhythm, someone plays the flute and another plays the erhu. People clap as they skip and dance in their silks, the traders amused as they clap along, even throwing in some bags of precious spices to reward the musicians. 

 

Donghyuck offers to split the cut amongst all of them when the sun sets and purple glows in the sky; but even the old man with the guzheng refuses, smiling as they take in this bubbly child, ruffling his hair and patting his cheeks, some stall owners even adorning him with flower wreaths or a herb or two to protect his throat. They give him some food for free, happy to chat with someone as chirpy as the guard. 

  
  
  


Mark’s heart clenches as he sees Donghyuck chatter endlessly about his day in the market, arranging the flower wreaths properly before putting them in his chest. Together with an amused Johnny, they counted the number of coins and it came up to a large sum of 500 copper coins, together with some spices that Donghyuck generously gives to Johnny to bring back to Ten, who loves these exotic things. 

 

“You don’t have to do this.” Mark says quietly, trying to hold back his tears as he watches Donghyuck sort out the herbs, the coins safe in Kun’s safe, ready to be sent to the bureau the next day. They just have to keep paying their debt until it’s finished, and they are off the hook. 

 

“I know. But I want to.” Donghyuck replies easily as he packs the herbs into a white cloth, poking his head out of the door to pass it to one of the servants, who needs it for their colleague who is really ill. Mark closes his eyes as he hears Donghyuck graciously joke with the grateful servant, wondering how big the younger’s heart is. 

 

“I like singing anyways.” Donghyuck tries to soothe the distraught noble. “I’m doing it for me,  _ and _ you. You’re like the afterthought.” Donghyuck offers, and he receives a glare from the noble. “What?” 

 

“You’re insufferable.” Mark clicks his tongue, shaking his head, and Donghyuck sticks out his tongue in retort.

  
  
  


“Oh! I forgot this.” Donghyuck jumps up suddenly, rushing to his bag as he takes out a whole stack of books. On his way back, he passed by a bookstore, and decided to buy a couple of books for the noble. Some words, he could read, others he couldn’t, but he decided that the harder the better, so he just took whatever books that looked hard enough, in exchange for a few spices and flower wreaths. 

 

“Hurry up and take it, they’re heavy and my arms are aching.” Donghyuck whines as he holds them out, Mark simply staring at them as he takes a deep breath, trying to hold his tears in.

 

He can’t and he pulls Donghyuck’s wrist, who then accidentally slams the books on the table as he is abruptly pulled into Mark’s lap, Mark burying his face into Donghyuck’s neck, breathing in the lavender scent as tears trickle down his cheeks. He tightly holds the squirming guard in place, only loosening a little when he realises the guard is just trying to get comfortable.

 

Donghyuck rests his head on top of Mark’s, fingers stroking Mark’s neck as the elder nuzzles his face into the warm neck in gratitude. Eventually, as always, the tears stop, and Mark is beyond embarrassed at his emotional outburst, unwilling to meet Donghyuck’s eyes. 

 

So they stay in the position, Donghyuck bending at Mark’s intriguing flexible ears, while Mark’s fingers shyly play with the gold pendent; his fingers going over and over again, along the engraved name: Haechan, Haechan, Haechan. 

  
  


_ His _ full sun. 

  
  
  
  


Mark regrets speaking about rehabilitation and therapy and the sort because he hates how his psychiatrist know nothing of his struggles, trying to convince him that all is well when obviously, it is not. 

 

Kun is intrigued, and often comes in for his sessions, so for the Foreign Minister’s sake, Mark attends his sessions, though unwilling. 

 

Honestly, Donghyuck is all he needs. 

 

They spoke earnestly and openly about Mark’s past with each other, in an attempt to bring them both closer, though in reality, it was just Donghyuck counselling Mark. 

 

“You know,” the younger starts out, as his eyes trace Mark’s fingers toying with his bracelet, “They don’t make up who you are. You are not what they made you to be. You’re not the murderer they carved, the thief, the trafficker, the monster. It’s like forcing clay into a mould, without allowing the clay to shape itself.  _ You _ decide who _ you  _ want to be. Don’t let them decide  _ for  _ you.” 

 

Mark raises his eyebrows at the words and half smiles as his eyes meet Donghyuck’s serious ones. “So you do have some brain cells.” He teases, earning a whine from Donghyuck. 

 

“But, really,” Mark says seriously after a series of insults were exchanged. His eyes are tracing the younger’s collarbones, his head tucked under Donghyuck’s again. They’ve been getting into this habit a lot, and Mark would rather die than admit that he  _ loves  _ every moment of it. “Thank you for seeing me for more than just my past, as cheesy as that sounds.” 

 

A pause, before Donghyuck’s trembling voice sounds into his ear, lips moving against his lips, sending a light shiver down Mark’s back. “Mark Lee thanking me? Unbelievable!” 

 

He is promptly thrown off Mark’s lap, wide smiles on both their faces. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didnt proof read this forgive my mistakes


	6. 3549 LIPSTICK STAIN, SIGNING OFF

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> markhyuck feeding us well this week hhh
> 
> thankyou all for the comments and kudos!!! i really appreicate it ;)

**SIX———3549 LIPSTICK STAIN, SIGNING OFF**

 

This time, Donghyuck doesn’t need to go through Johnny to take his day off. Yuta automatically gives it to him, as well as to the other victims of the internal war. Commemoration day is like a public holiday for the palace staff, since many are the leftovers, the survivors of the tragic event. Many either go back to their hometowns to honour their dead family, or take a day off to relax in the market and mingle with the commoners, as if to weave in some normalcy into their lives.

 

Mark watches Donghyuck silently packs his belongings, the gold tablet hanging from the red threads that bind it to his wrist. 

 

“Hyuck.” He’s developing the habit of calling his guard that nickname, though he would like to call him ‘Haechan’, it’s a  _ little _ too early for that kind of intimacy (or at least, that’s what he thinks).

 

The other hums in reply, not even glancing up from his packing. 

 

“Can I go with you?” 

 

The other freezes at the proposal, but then pretends he doesn’t hear it as he proceeds to fold the rest of his clothes. 

 

“Hyuck.” Mark doesn’t whine (unlike Donghyuck); he commands. Probably why Doyoung likes him so much: the qualities of a leader. 

 

“No, Mark.” Donghyuck says tiredly, walking to the closet to take one of the well kept flower wreaths. 

 

“Why?” Mark asks, and Donghyuck frowns as he turns to briefly glance at his master. “Some things, you have to do alone.” 

 

“But we were supposed to open up to each other.” Mark says quietly, more to himself than the guard, disappointed. He wanted to know more about Donghyuck; it isn’t fair that Donghyuck helps him through everything, and he gives nothing in return. 

 

“I heard that, and I get it, Mark. Maybe next time, hmm?” Donghyuck soothes, before slinging the bag over his shoulder, heading for the door. “Don’t cause trouble ‘kay? Love you.” And with that, he slips out of the room. 

 

Donghyuck says ‘love you’s often enough for most of his colleagues to ignore and brush it off, which is what Mark should do too, instead, it just leaves him craving for more as he sits frozen at the words. 

 

Mark closes his eyes. He knows, Johnny too, will be going on th trip, though his family was wiped out during a different era and time. He goes on this trip, to pay respects to Jaehyun, and to accompany Donghyuck as well. 

 

Sometimes, he can’t help but feel a tad bit jealous, but then he shakes his head to get rid of the thoughts. It’s ridiculous. He’s only known Donghyuck for less than a year; Johnny’s been with Donghyuck since he stepped foot into the palace. Of course Donghyuck would let Johnny into his heart a little more than Mark. Still, his mouth and heart twist in the most unpleasant way. 

 

But, precisely because Johnny is going on this trip, he knows exactly who will be suffering in the near same way as him; the King. They are inseparable, pretty much like himself and Donghyuck, so he trudges to find solace with the King, who he is beginning to see more and more as a parental figure than anything. 

 

Outside of the fact that the King had personally employed Doyoung to give him lessons (this is considered outside of the palace’s provisions, though pretty borderline, but the court closes one eye), and outside the fact that the King and him train and ride together often, getting used to each other, Ten has given him much advice and told him about the many lessons he learnt the hard way. He knows, Ten is trying to be subtle, but yet still quite obvious, that he is training Mark to be the next King. 

  
  
  


“Come in.” The voice calls and Mark enters. Johnny has yet to leave, and the guard smiles gently at the appearance of the younger. 

 

“Mark.” Ten smiles, not the least caring if the younger saw him in Johnny’s arms, head tucked under Johnny’s chin. Mark tries not to inhale too sharply at the familiar position. 

 

Mark mumbles his greetings, and Ten drops his smile as he frowns. “What’s wrong?” Mark is always surprised by how Ten is so intune to others’ feelings. The littlest change has him on the high alert. Something to do about his animal like instincts, he supposes. 

 

Mark shrugs sadly as he stands in front of them, shifting his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably. He doesn’t know why he feels so sad. All he knows is that he wants a hug, preferably from Donghyuck, but he doesn’t mind Ten too. 

 

Ten untangles himself from Johnny, who goes to collect his bag from the corner of the room and with a goodbye kiss pressed sweetly on Ten’s forehead, and a ruffle of Mark’s hair, he leaves, Mark watching him go forlornly. 

 

“Something to do with Guard Lee?” Ten asks casually as he pours both of them tea, his accounting book in one hand. 

 

Mark hums as he sips the hot, sweet tea. Way too sweet. He wrinkles his nose in disgust. 

 

“I asked if I could go with him and he said no.” 

 

Ten raises his eyebrows. “Even I don’t ask to go with Johnny.” 

 

“Yea but…..” Mark tries to explain but then trails off. He just pouts and glares at the intricate designs on the china cup. 

 

“But?” Ten puts down his book, and looks at him straight in the eye. Mark hates that gaze. It’s exposing, as if peeling you apart. He wished he had that gaze, then maybe, Donghyuck would spill all his secrets to him. 

 

“I….I just want to know him better.” Mark mumbles lamely. 

 

“Mark.” Ten says gently, as the other averts his eyes, and they wander around the room. 

 

“You do know, that that part of Guard Lee has yet to heal right? It’s been many years, but it is hard to get over. He had to watch his sister die in front of him. If it weren’t for Johnny’s timely save, he would have been killed as well.” Ten says softly, as he swirls the contents in his cup. 

 

“He watched his sister die?” Mark almost chokes this out, tears threatening to spill. Ten nods sympathetically. “And as if things weren’t bad enough, his mother is the  _ worst _ person I have ever met. And he will have to meet her every year, because they pay respects at the same grave. She is….one terrible woman. Even in front of the King, she doesn’t halt her degrading terms towards Donghyuck. It’s,” Ten shivers as he remembers the pain he felt when Johnny had recounted this to him, “It’s tragic. And yet, the boy never does seem to lose his spark, huh?” He ends lightly, a glint in his eyes as he meets his with Mark’s. 

 

Mark hums, fingers tracing the wood. How Donghyuck can remain so lively despite everything he goes through, is a wonder. 

  
  
  


“You probably know, but Guard Lee was born into a family of low class nobles, though the Lee family do hold some prestigious positions, his father did not. They were looked down upon by many royals and nobles. So you can guess, they were pretty desperate to send their son for the entrance exams; to prove everyone wrong. 

 

“But it was ridiculous. Guard Lee was only eleven, he couldn’t possibly pass the entrance exams that even geniuses at twenty could barely excel in. His parents hated him. His tanned skin, his talent for music instead of swordsmanship only made things worse. They threw him into Johnny’s hands, in an attempt to have him become more masculine. It was ridiculous. 

 

“A year later, the internal war happened. He really did mourn, that boy.” 

 

“So many times,” Ten closes his eyes as he rubs his temples, “I wished I didn’t have to wage the internal war. The price was too high. He could have hated me, you know. But he didn’t. He didn’t at all. Mesmerising almost, and heartbreaking, how his heart is so full of love, even when so much is taken.”

  
  


They talk like this for hours, talking about Donghyuck, talking about Johnny, about him, the tales of the tigers, and Mark feels a little better, and yet at the same time, worse, as he lay in his room, all by himself, knowing that Donghyuck was out there, all alone, fighting an uphill battle. 

  
  


The royal staff return two days later, and no happy faces, streaks of grief still remnant. The King himself, cancelled a court meeting (though everyone knows, it is just so he could spend the day with his guard.) So here he is, with Donghyuck, the other chattering away. While others were quiet and solemn, the guard did his best to brighten the mood, giving out little cakes or chattering with the guards and older servants, Mark close behind, a sour expression on his face, like his heart had just been ripped out. 

 

“Why do you have to be so kind?” He asks, as they walk back to their room from the servant quarters. Donghyuck just blinks and laughs, a teasing tone laced in his words. “Fancy you complimenting me, noble Mark Lee. I should take these breaks more often.” 

 

Mark frowns and twists Donghyuck’s wrist, stopping him from skipping down the hallways. 

 

“You know, you don’t have to pretend to be happy all the time.” 

 

Donghyuck pretends he doesn’t know what Mark is talking about, and simply slaps the elder’s hand. “Lighten up, will you? You look perpetually ugly, with that look on your face. Like you’re having the worst time of your life.” 

 

“Hyuck, I’m serious.” Mark says as he follows the guard back into their room. 

 

The guard ignores him as he arranges his bed, taking out some clothes from the closet. 

 

“Lee Donghyuck.” Still, no reply. 

 

“Oh for goodness’ sake.” Mark grits his teeth in exasperation, pushing the guard back on the bed. “Will you answer me?” 

 

Donghyuck flips so that his back is against the mattress, and Mark is met with a dangerous glint of the eyes. “Don’t _ push _ me, Mark Lee.” 

 

“Stop acting like you’re the hero and you’re so damn strong, you can take all the burdens of the world!” Mark whisper-shouts as he retorts back, rage boiling as it courses through his blood. 

 

Donghyuck simply glares at him, trying to get up, only to be pushed back down, Mark pinning him with either side of his thighs, trapping the smaller boy. 

 

“I wish you would tell me  _ what the hell _ is going on inside you, so that I can help you, just like you helped me. But you know what? If you don’t want to open up to me, that’s fine, I don’t care.” He doesn’t make much sense, anger blinding the usually logical boy. 

 

Donghyuck points out the contradiction much to the elder’s annoyance. “Well, it doesn’t  _ look _ like you don’t care.” He says, pointing at the strong thighs on either side of him. 

  
  


“Why do you always have to act like you aren’t hurting?” Mark asks, his voice breaking, and he swallows hard. 

 

Donghyuck’s feisty demeanour drops. “Mark, stop.” 

 

“No,  _ you _ stop. You know, I don’t cry openly to just anyone, but I cried in front of you. If you think for  _ a second _ that I would judge you for crying, you have me thought twisted.  _ You can be yourself with me, Lee Donghyuck _ . You don’t have to keep pretending.” 

 

Donghyuck’s eyes are glistening as he looks away, his strength suddenly ebbing away. 

 

“Do you like to see me cry so much?” He jokes through the tears, but the downward turn of his lips tells Mark everything. 

 

“No. I just don’t like that  _ you don’t cry _ .” Mark says softly as Donghyuck sits up straighter, so that now Mark straddles his hips. Thumbs wipe the tears and he smiles gently. “I know what it’s like Hyuck, trust me. I couldn’t let myself cry for years. I know how much it hurts. I know. And I hate to see you hurt.” Mark whispers as Donghyuck lets go, and buries his face into Mark’s chest, sobbing his heart out. 

 

If Mark is the quiet crier, Donghyuck is loud as hell; sobbing, sneezing, hiccupping, Mark almost rolls his eyes if not for the fact that his own heart is breaking. 

 

And now, the boy is laughing; Mark frowns at the absurdity.  _ Always full of surprise, his Haechan is.  _

 

“What?” Mark raises his eyebrow as he chases after a tear falling. 

 

  
“Why do I feel, like we both knew we would somehow end up in this position?” Donghyuck asks as his chocolate brown eyes meet Mark’s in amusement, Mark’s body on fire as those innocent, endearing orbs trace his form, from his hips to his face. His face is flaming, he is sure; as he attempts to scramble out of the position, only to be kept securely in Donghyuck’s lap with a vice-like grip on his hips, that has his breath hitching. 

 

For the first time in many months, they are both quiet, lost as they trace each other’s features, eyes sunk and lost in each other’s, wondering who would make the first move. 

  
  
  


Donghyuck gently traces Mark’s face, from his forehead, to the lightest, fluttering touches on the ear, to the nose and finally to the lips, tracing over and over again, as if memorising the shape of them, Mark’s eyes widening as his heart thumps at the highest speed possibly. His grip on Donghyuck’s shoulder tightens as he has no control over his body, lips parting slightly as Donghyuck’s thumb slips in a little, thumb pressed on the softest parts. 

 

Donghyuck laughs softly as his eyes trace back to Mark’s slightly frightened ones. He frowns and quickly removes his hand, muttering a sorry. He had forgotten all about Mark’s past, and attempts to disentangle their limbs. 

 

“Hey, it’s okay. I....” Mark swallows as he squeezes his eyes shut. It’s now or never. 

 

“I kind of like it.” His cheeks are burning for sure, because a cool palm is pressed against it, someone chuckling as they tease him. He opens his eyes to glare at Donghyuck’s amused expression. “What?” He says bitingly, hating the smug look on Donghyuck’s face. 

 

Donghyuck shrugs as his fingers move to touch the prominent collarbones just peeking out from Mark’s robes. He brushes over the curve tilting down at the edge of them, humming softly. 

  
“I wish I was as pale as you.” Donghyuck muses as he continues to brush his hands over Mark’s neck, indulging in the smoothness and softness of the skin. 

 

Mark blinks. “Why?” 

 

Donghyuck just raises his eyebrows as if to say ‘ _ are you stupid? _ ’ Mark doesn’t know whether to press in, or slap him.

 

“Because then I would be beautiful.” He mutters. 

 

“Why? There’s nothing wrong with your tan skin.” Mark frowns as his own fingers barely touch Donghyuck’s melanin-rich skin along his neck, his fingers almost burning at the touch. 

 

Donghyuck shrugs. “Yea, tell  _ that _ to our society. Who likes a dark person? Everyone wants to be white.  _ I  _ want to be white.” 

  
  


“I  _ like _ your dark skin.” Mark blurts out, and immediately flushes as Donghyuck raises his eyebrows in amusement. _ Again. _

 

“Yea?” Donghyuck breathes out, closing a little of the small space between them, words forming over Mark’s lips. “Tell me about it.” 

 

He shivers when Mark tentatively presses his lips against his, hands dropping to hold onto Mark’s hips, the sharpness of the bone grounding him into reality as his head floats, lightheaded by the way Mark just hovers slightly, a little unsure, but eventually still pressing back in for another taste of Donghyuck’s plump lips. 

 

Mark pulls away again, and Donghyuck parts his lips in anticipation, waiting, and eventually receiving a cautious lick on the side of his mouth from Mark. This time, his tongue is already out to brush against Mark’s, the elder’s breath hitching as his hands drawing circles on Donghyuck’s shoulder, freeze. 

 

“Okay?” Donghyuck asks as he cups Mark’s jaw, thumbing encouragingly at the sharp line. 

 

“Yea. Just…” Mark swallows. He hates to ruin this moment. He wants to indulge in it. But something about the fast flashbacks of the times with his mistress, has him reeling back. He wants to scream and thrash, and yet Donghyuck’s hopeful eyes has him biting and swallowing them back. 

 

“It’s okay, you know. I get it.” Donghyuck says meaningfully, meeting Mark’s eyes. 

 

“No. I don’t….I don’t want me to be….” 

 

“Defined by it?” Donghyuck finishes for him, asking softly. 

 

“Yea. I don’t want it to keep restricting me. I want to get better.” Mark answers truthfully, his fingers moving up Donghyuck’s neck to touch the piercing on the most ethereal ears. 

 

“Want me to help?” Donghyuck teases as he leans up, but far enough, to ask for permission. 

 

“Do you have to ask?” Mark says softly, smiling as Donghyuck grazes his lips over Mark’s. 

 

“We can take it slow.” Donghyuck mumbles, though doing quite the opposite as he lightly bites on Mark’s bottom lip, earning a harsh tug on his hair. 

 

“Mmhmm,  _ real _ slow, Lee Donghyuck.” Mark mumbles as he watches Donghyuck trace his neck with his lips with hooded eyes, sucking gently on the skin, experimenting the taste of sweat and Mark. 

 

“Shut up.” Donghyuck retorts as he traces his lips back up to connect his mouth with Mark’s. “Your reactions tell me you love this.” 

 

Mark attempts to retort, but the minute he pulls away, there’s a whine caught in his throat and he rolls his eyes at the smirk sporting on Donghyuck’s flushed face, pulling the other closes as he gently swipes over the bottom lip. 

 

“ _ I’m _ supposed to lead.” Donghyuck whines as he bites teasingly on Mark’s intruding tongue, the other yelping in pain. 

 

“You talk too much.” Mark retorts in reply as he relents and lets Donghyuck take the lead, the younger coaxing him with his tongue as he cautiously explores the hot cavern, his arms circling around the waist to lock his hands and keep the noble in place. He pauses every now and then, as if with their tongues entangled, Mark would  _ ever _ want to stop. 

 

Mark sighs as he arches his back a little, tilting his head up for Donghyuck to explore his neck, a hand sliding up his back to hold Mark’s head up in a commanding touch. But that is all it has to take, for a flashback to spin through Mark’s mind, leaving him to pull back a little, an apology on his lips. 

 

“It’s okay. I’m sorry.” Donghyuck beats him to it, levelling their faces as he keeps his lips to Mark’s face, tracing the other’s features. 

 

“I’m not her, Mark.” He whispers against the skin. “You’re safe with me, okay? You’re safe with me.” He says as he locks eyes with Mark’s ones, liking that the fear is ebbing away slowly. 

 

“Here.” He guides Mark’s limp fingers to touch his bracelet. “You’ll know it’s me, hmm?” Donghyuck suggests, allowing Mark to trace the knuckles and the veins, touching the tablet cautiously. He nods slowly, allowing Donghyuck to trace his neck with his fingers, lips pressing a reassuring kiss on the side of his lips. 

 

“This okay?” Donghyuck asks as his fingers trace over the collarbones. Mark looks at him, and his breath hitches at  _ how beautiful Donghyuck is; _ and he nods rapidly. 

 

“How about this?” Donghyuck asks as his breath fans over the prominent bones and Mark almost lets out an embarrassing sound, trapping it in his throat, but still, Donghyuck hears it. He laughs and Mark lightly pinches his hand as the younger dips in to press soft kisses along the line, Mark lacing his fingers through the locks. 

 

“Okay?” He asks as he meets Mark’s eyes, who accidentally lets out a curse. Donghyuck laughs at Mark’s flaming cheeks, nuzzling his face into Mark’s neck. 

  
  
  


“Do you really find me pretty?” Donghyuck asks. Hours must have been passing, Mark thinks, with Donghyuck’s fingers tracing his skin in sleepy gestures, his fingers imprinted with his guard’s name as they ran over the engraved words a thousand times. They are lying down now, Donghyuck whining that he was tired a while ago, his eyes closed, but still his hand traces over Mark’s skin in reassurance.

 

Mark hums as he props himself up, his arm supporting his weight as it brackets Donghyuck’s head, his fingers combing through the locks. 

 

“Why don’t you think you’re pretty?” 

 

Donghyuck cracks open an eye and rolls it, huffing in exasperation as he tilts his head sideways, unintentionally showing off his jawline. 

 

“With this skin? I’m  _ anything _ but pretty.” 

 

Donghyuck’s head snaps back as he catches Mark’s eye, the elder averting his gaze, pretending he doesn’t know what he is doing, fingers tracing along the jawline, pausing at the chin as he tilts it up, thumb smoothing over the Adam’s apple, dipping into tracing the collarbones. 

 

“Mark.” Donghyuck warns, hand on Mark’s back. 

 

“What?” Mark mumbles as he simply lets his head fall in the space between Donghyuck’s chin and chest, arm wrapped around Donghyuck’s middle, closing his eyes. 

 

“I think you’re pretty.” Mark whispers as Donghyuck plays with his hair, letting the locks fall through his fingers. He finds it amusing, messing up the noble’s usually well styled hair. 

 

“Thanks. I find you pretty beautiful too.” 

 

He laughs as Mark’s face flushes again, unwilling to lift his head as he buries his face into Donghyuck’s clothes in embarrassment, hating the butterflies floating in his stomach, and the sound of Donghyuck’s constant teasings. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> scream at me on [tumblr](https://tenecity.tumblr.com/), [twitter](https://twitter.com/tenecty) or [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me) :)


	7. 1857 IT’S EASY, TO WRITE AGAIN.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All it takes, is a little courage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOYOYOYO i was delaying this because.............this royal au will be a trilogy called 'the King and his Guard' and i wanted to plan the ending and the next part before posting this so yea!!!! djsfhdkhsljdfh look forward to it! hjhjsdlshd im kinda scared though but yea anyways,,,,,i heard many of you are doing finals in college or smth so rmbr to drink lots of coffee AND water, and you can do this! jiayou and ily :))

**SEVEN— —— **1857** IT’S EASY, TO WRITE AGAIN. **

**_All it takes, is a little courage_ **

 

 

The dynamic in their relationship has definitely shifted, but it is floating somewhere in between. It’s that awkward phase, between shifting from a guard and a royal, to something much, much more than that, and while it was difficult for Johnny and Ten to transition, it came easily for the two younger ones, mainly because they don’t care for the royal rules. 

 

They are given yet another pass to venture outside the royal grounds, Yuta groaning as he hands them the slip, warning Donghyuck that he has used all of it, in which the younger merely shrugs as he pulls at Mark’s wrist, dragging him out. 

 

It is only the two of them, a dagger slipped under Donghyuck’s robes in case of any trouble. They wear dark netted hats, concealing their identity as night befalls, the sky painted a dark shade as the city bustles into a different life, the night facade slowly awakening. 

 

Donghyuck wanted to bring Mark out here into town during the lantern festival. It is always the most beautiful season of the year; he and his sister would always come out to catch some fireflies in glass jars, swirling their lighted sparks to create a trail of smokey shapes in the air, and dance around with the candle-lit lanterns. 

 

Mark watches Donghyuck chatter on, as if he didn’t know the pain of reminiscing better times. Donghyuck catches the look Mark gives, and gives him a sweet smile, shrugging, as if it didn’t matter, the pain, only an ant bite; and again, Mark marvels at the steel strength of the other. 

 

The festival is going at full speed, shouts in the air as the townspeople try to lure customers into their shops. The restaurants are full up with huge family reunions, lanterns of different coloured paper illuminate the place while children run below, chasing each other, laughter running high in the air. Warmth seeps through every body as they indulge in the value of family. 

 

Mark and Donghyuck themselves, will be having a family reunion with the rest of the royals, though that is tomorrow. The palace always works up the biggest festivals, and they can’t possibly miss it. 

  
  


They settle for a noodle shop (after much bickering, in which, as usual, Donghyuck wins) and share a bowl of piping hot noodles with beef soup; the depth of flavours and spices spiking their tongues as they laugh and chatter, the happy atmosphere getting into them. 

 

“I wish this could happen everyday,” Donghyuck sighs as they walk down the streets, fingers barely brushing as they keep hold of each other. The massive crowd could cause them to lose each other in the midst of the chaos. 

 

Mark merely hums in reply, eyes wandering as they drink in the sights, colours, sounds. He loves this. When he was in The Red Rubies, there was never a sound of celebration, besides the death of a leader and the rise of another. Hostages had limited rights; they couldn’t leave their allocated compounds unless given permission. Much like the palace, only, a lot more restrictive. 

 

Donghyuck is tugging at his wrist and he snaps out of his daze as he lets the other guide him, and they stop in front of a huge field, people all around them purchasing the huge lanterns, furiously scribbling words of hope and love on the sides of it. Some have already lighted theirs as they watch it rise to the sky, the midnight blue now painted with dots of fire. 

 

Donghyuck purchases one, and hands Mark a brush as he dips his in ink, writing down some words. Mark watches Donghyuck’s face scrunch in concentration and he smiles as he pulls aside his robes, writing down his wishes as well. 

 

They step back and light the lantern, eyes trailing after theirs, until they can’t see it anymore, a little dot in the midst of the rest. Insignificant, and yet heavy with the hopes of two young men, hoping for a future that could be more than their past; that could be entirely theirs. 

 

Mark tilts his head back down, only to catch Donghyuck already staring at him, with an unreadable expression on his face. The other turns away, mouth twisting as his fingers press against his tablet, walking away as Mark runs to catch up with him, breathless. 

  
  


“What were you thinking?” Mark asks, casually, as if he hadn’t been holding his breath in anticipation. 

 

“I was thinking,” Donghyuck says carefully as they turn into the more isolated parts, weaving their way back into the palace. “That I am looking at our next king, and that it is an honour to be able to do all this, with our next ruler.” 

 

Mark halts in his tracks, and frowns, his heart burning. No matter how much Donghyuck would say he is perfect, and beautiful and enough, he will never be enough  _ for himself _ . Only he knows the number of scars on his marred heart, his blood-stained hands, a guilt that can never be washed off. Who wants a murderer as a king? 

 

Donghyuck sighs as he turns around, walking back to Mark as he stands in front of him. Mark’s a little taller than he is, in which he wouldn’t stop complaining about, so he has to lift his face up to lock orbs with the other. 

 

“Hyuck, I can’t be king.” Mark whispers after a while, nearly losing himself in the raw emotions sinking in the depths of Donghyuck’s eyes. 

 

“Yes, you can. You have to, Mark.” Donghyuck insists. 

 

“Think about it. You know what’s it like to suffer. You’ve seen other people suffer. And the only way to stop that, to prevent history from repeating itself is power. Power in good hands. Your hands are pretty good.” Donghyuck says, defiant. 

 

“My hands are stained with  _ blood _ , Hyuck.” Mark grits through his teeth, running his fingers through his hair as he side steps his guard, walking through the gates of the palace. The palace, very much like the town, is never silent, servants still busy at work, guards changing shifts. They bow as they pass him and Donghyuck jabs him in the ribs with his elbow, as if to make it a point. 

 

“They respect you, Mark. They don’t care if you had killed someone before. They like you, for who you are, now.” Donghyuck whispers as they walk along the corridor, back to their room. 

 

“I’m a monster, Hyuck. Didn’t you hear what the woman said? I’m a monster. I’ve wiped out entire villages, entire families-” 

 

“Under the orders of the Red Rubies, in which you had no control over.” Donghyuck retorts as he closes the door, taking great care as he carefully lights each lamp in their room with a candle. 

 

“I’m tainted, Hyuck.” Mark tries again, as he sits at his desk, fingers brushing his parchment, but eyes focused on his guard. 

 

“So? It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have done anything-” 

 

“I could have resisted-” 

 

“And end up dead.” Donghyuck cuts in, so sharply, Mark draws in an equally sharp breath with it, surprised at the fierceness.

 

“You said it yourself, Mark. The Hostages couldn’t have done anything in their power to resist, unless they want to be dead. Look, you’re as much of a victim as anyone of them out there. Just because you got on the wrong side of it, doesn’t mean you’re completely guilty.” 

 

“Not completely, means partially. I am still guilty. The court ruled me as  _ guilty _ . What King has a criminal record, you tell me?” Mark says as he balls his fist, fingernails cutting his palm. 

 

“If you don’t want to be King,  _ fine _ . You’re wasting your talent. You could be saving millions as a redemption for those you killed, but if you want to throw away your redeeming ticket, that’s fine by me.” Donghyuck snaps as he snuffs out the candle. 

 

“Why are you even angry?” Mark retorts back, knuckles white as they grip his chair. 

 

Silence stretches out between the two of them as Donghyuck and him glare at each other, pent up anger and frustration running deep through the space between them. 

  
  
  


“I’m just tired of you never seeing your worth.” Donghyuck bites back after a while, throwing his clothes off with measured anger. 

 

“How can I see any worth, if there is none?  _ I’m a tainted ruby _ , Hyuck. No one wants broken stones.” His voice cracks as he feels his heartstrings snap at the thought of it. No one would want him; why would they? They are always looking for perfectly carved precious stones, not a gem who has been used, burning blood reeking, crimes piling. 

 

“You’re not a broken stone, Mark.” Donghyuck says quietly as he turns around, slipping his shirt over his head. “Didn’t I tell you? You’re as beautiful as any gem can get.” Mark just scoffs at the cheesiness, though he doesn’t resist when Donghyuck pulls him to his bed.

 

Donghyuck hums as he sits comfortably on Mark’s lap, their faces now level, as his eyes trace and memorise each feature. “You’re enough, Mark. Not perfect, because no one is. Perfect for me, maybe.” He mumbles as his lips touch the curve of the ear, and the hand squeezing his hips press a little harder. 

 

“But you’re enough. You’re smart, you’re charming, you’re eloquent. You understand the people’s needs. You know how to engage with them. You learn fast, even the Foreign Minister is amazed by you, and he is hardly impressed by anything.” Donghyuck whispers over skin as he conveniently skips the lips, pressing kisses elsewhere as his fingers trace Mark’s jaw, trailing down the neck, thumbing the collarbones, before pressing flat over the chest, where he can feel the hard thumping of Mark’s heart. 

 

“Your swordsmanship tops many guards. You know the inner workings of an organisation’s economy. That’s useful when cracking down organised crimes.” Donghyuck points out as he leans up to press a kiss on Mark’s forehead, the other shuddering as he pulls Donghyuck closer, flushing their bodies together, feeding off the warmth.

 

“You’re compassionate. You’re a problem-solver. You don’t just point out problems, you provide solutions to them. That’s constructive criticism. That’s what the court  _ needs _ .” Donghyuck emphasises as their lips becomes just inches apart. 

 

“So tell me,” Donghyuck says softly, words fanning over the noble’s lips. “Where in all that, is the monster you make yourself out to be?” 

 

Mark’s eyes flutter shut as Donghyuck presses against his chapped lips, humming as he coaxes the elder to part his lips, slipping in as his tongue brushes over every corner of his mouth, bliss seeping into his bloodstream as he grows light headed. He forgets what makes him a monster. He forgets about the past written by others. Now, he only looks at a future, that is written by him, and him alone. 

  
  
  
  
  


“Okay,” He breathes out as they part, voice vibrating against Donghyuck’s neck. “Okay.” 

 

“I’ll be King.” 

 

The words whisper in the air as Donghyuck slots his mouth with Mark’s again, a lot more desperate, as if to tell Mark over and over again, how proud he is of him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> watch me write controversial things on [tumblr](https://tenecity.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/tenecty)  
> and ask me questions/suggestions/theories/share your thoughts on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me) !


	8. 4940 PERHAPS A NEW PAGE; PERHAPS A SEMICOLON

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry for the lack of updates! i hope christmas was good for you :) 
> 
> anywayss,,, here's chapter 8! we're nearing the end and im sad this fic's going to finish
> 
> and i'm sorry i really am it's not my fault i sweardnfkhd
> 
> follow me on [tumblr](https://tenecity.tumblr.com/)  
> where i just post random opinionated stuff and some digital art that i do for fun (it kinda sucks but anyways yea if u want, follow me! :D)

**EIGHT—** **——4940 PERHAPS A NEW PAGE; PERHAPS A SEMICOLON**

 

 

 

The lantern festival comes and goes, and the days get chiller as temperature drops and snow swirls. The town is a little quieter, people choosing to stay indoors, away from the bitter cold. 

 

The palace, however, is another thing altogether, a complete opposite of the world outside its walls. The palace is thrown into a frenzy as they prepare for another celebration, the AAA or the Annual Animal Appreciation , an initiative started by their King, who is known to have a soft spot for animals. This celebration is bigger than any other, with people from all over, from Persia, India, Thailand, all coming together to celebrate a time free of animal cruelty. All in all, very noble, very honourable. 

  
  


They are just preparing to get ready, when a servant comes in with a message from the King, telling them to graciously skip dinner and to meet them outside the courtyard with their horses. Donghyuck snickers as he thinks of a fuming Doyoung and Yuta, gathering his thick fur coat, helping Mark to smooth out his winter robes. 

  
  
  


He curses as the bitter winds cut his face, flushing them red as their horses gallop up to the southern mountains, riding without stopping as the King leads the way with ease, like this is his home. They slow as they near some barren land, and the King hops off his horse, the rest following, Donghyuck tying their horses safely to a bare tree. 

  
  


When he’s quite sure they are out of earshot, he starts complaining as per usual to Mark, rubbing his hands together to gather some warmth. “God, it’s so  _ cold _ .” Donghyuck whines as he tries to huddle next to Mark, who merely rolls his eyes and pushes him away, more concerned of where this is going. 

 

“Mark,” Donghyuck whines and the noble rolls his eyes as he grudgingly allows Donghyuck to slip his numb fingers with his warmer ones. “Now will you shut the fuck up?” Mark says tiredly and Donghyuck brightens up considerably, his gold tablet now cold metal as it bounces between both their wrists. 

 

Donghyuck is just about to complain about something when he stops dead in his tracks as he narrows his eyes, surveying the area. He knows this place. It’s well out of bounds, and marked on territorial maps as the most dangerous regions. A tiger’s den is nothing short of suicide. 

 

“What?” Mark frowns at the way Donghyuck pauses. 

 

“It’s a tiger’s den. Do you think they know?” He nods at the couple in front of them, Johnny’s hands tight on Ten’s shoulders, though they show no sign of panic nor retreatment. Mark shrugs as he tugs Donghyuck along, walking a little faster to catch up with the two elder ones. 

 

They see Johnny loosen his grip and allow Ten to walk straight into the den, Donghyuck almost having a heart attack as he immediately opens his mouth in protest, but is stopped by the raise of Johnny’s hand. 

 

Mark is calmer, eyes watching the expression on both the King and his guard. The happiness, contentment, a brief look of longing and home passes over the two of them; this isn’t what happens when you near a normal tiger’s den with normal people. 

 

His mouth drops along with Donghyuck as they watch their King come back with two baby tiger cubs cradled in his arms, two tigers by his side, walking with such grace and ease. It suddenly all clicks, how Ten has such keen senses and instincts, how he holds himself with such slickness and confidence, how he walks with purpose and a sense of honour and dignity a King should have. He is  _ one of them _ , in his very element.

  
  
  


“Landa and Sae,” Ten introduces the two big tigers ask he switches his attention from his guard, who is currently glaring affectionately at those two majestic creatures, to Mark, locking eyes with him. Mark nods wordlessly, heart shaking as he cautiously runs his finger through the fur. It’s soft and silky, so carefully kept, very unlike a wild animal. But he can feel it, that it is also because how they are made, what is in their blood, their DNA, that they can be so carved and made so beautifully. 

 

Donghyuck is having a heart attack as he watches Mark touch the tiger, hand instinctively out to grab Mark’s wrist, though he suppresses the urge to pull Mark back, when he sees the tiger purring, as it’s amber eyes find Mark’s, a small smile tugging at his noble’s lips.

 

Their King speaks in some foreign tongue as they move to near the trees, resting under them, a water-resistant cloth to prevent their clothes from soaking in the snow. Landa and Sae drop near where Ten sits, resting their heavy heads on his lap, Johnny looking mildly offended. 

 

The words spoken stop and Ten looks at Mark with glistening eyes. “Here,” he whispers, holding out a cub to Mark, the other one, more cheeky, has already leaped out of Ten’s arms and is clawing playfully at Mark’s boots, whining for attention. Mark averts his eyes with the tiger in his arms to smile at Donghyuck. “This one’s like you.” He says when Donghyuck mouths a ‘what’.

 

Donghyuck rolls his eyes, but his expression softens as he gently pats the top of the tiger’s head, the eyes gleaming in delight that it is given some attention, turns to survey the guard carefully. They sniff and pull at both their new human masters, toying with the idea of something other than their own. 

 

“They are beautiful.” Mark breathes out as he catches Ten looking at them fondly. 

 

“Well, they are of the purest breed, so of course. One’s a male, one’s a female; what will you name them?” Ten asks gently. 

 

“Can I name them?” Donghyuck pipes out and Mark rolls his eyes, though they are short of malice and lose their edge, his heart lurching at the way Donghyuck is nuzzling the cub with his nose, as if he was one of them. 

 

“Whatever you want, guard.” Mark says, emphasising on the ‘guard’, cautious that the King and his guard are watching them. “But I name the female and you name the male.” 

 

“But I want to name them  _ both _ .” Donghyuck insist, crossing his arms, forgoing any formality as well; it’s just the four of them after all. Mark groans inwardly as he glares at Donghyuck. Sometimes, when Donghyuck is pressing kisses all around him, he can forget just how  _ annoying  _ the other can be. 

 

“No, they are  _ mine _ ; you should already be grateful you are naming one.” Mark argues, gritting his teeth. 

 

“But I want to name them both.” Donghyuck whines and he pouts. “ _ Please _ , Mark.” 

 

They don’t say anything, watching each other as a frown etches on Mark’s forehead. He hates that Donghyuck just knows, that his whining always makes Mark give in. He’s too endearing to handle. Mark scoffs and bites the inside of his cheek, muttering under his breath, “And to think I am supposed to be the royal around here.” 

 

He didn’t think Ten would pick it up, but the King did anyway. What could possibly escape the King’s sharp senses? Anyhow, he tenses a little. He wasn’t ready to tell them just yet. He mumbles a quiet “yes” in response, lips threatening to curve up as he hears Donghyuck say, “I convinced him.” 

 

“Did not.” Mark retorts, though his heart pulls his lips up as he remembers the way Donghyuck convinced him. Very persuasive. Donghyuck always seems to know just how to get his way around things. 

 

The world ebbs away, the King’s and his guard’s presence negligible, as his eyes focus on the sight before him, heart warm though fingers cold, as he watches Donghyuck play with the cubs, laughing as they lick his face. He is dying to hug Donghyuck, getting up in initiative to get away. 

 

They run in the open field with the cubs trotting by their side, eyes shining with happiness. Donghyuck’s smile is never lost and he cheekily rolls a snowball, throwing it at Mark, who now rethinks his urge to hug Donghyuck. He throws back one is response, hitting the guard square in the jaw, laughing and shouting, their cubs barely purring as they join in the fun. 

  
  


“They’re sweet.” Donghyuck says, panting as he gathers back his breath, Mark’s eyes trailing after his gaze as he watches the King and his guard share a very private moment. 

 

“It’s rude to stare, Lee Donghyuck.” He chides as he picks up one of the cubs, stroking its fur with cautiousness and respect. 

 

“They’re distracted.” There’s a hint of mischief in his voice that Mark does not want to entertain, though his body reacts otherwise as he presses his lips at the curve of Donghyuck’s ear, just short of his piercing. 

 

“Satisfied?” Mark raises his eyebrows as he rolls his eyes when Donghyuck shakes his head, eyelashes fluttering ridiculously. 

 

“Come on, Mark. If they can kiss, so can we.” 

 

“They’re getting  _ married _ , Hyuck. It’s different.” Mark clucks his tongue as he reaches to cuddle the other tiger. 

 

“Wouldn’t we be too? It’s not so different, is it?” 

 

Mark’s head shoots up as he stares agape at his guard, who is unfazed by his own words, simply staring at Mark like he just laid down the most logical thing ever. “What?” Mark says, heart drumming against his ribcage. “Hyuck, I don’t-” 

 

“Nevermind.” The guard sighs as he picks up one of the cubs. “How about Eun Kyung for the girl? A graceful gem.” Donghyuck switches the topic so fast, as if he didn’t just speak the heaviest words on earth. 

 

“I...yea, that’s a good name.” Mark mumbles as he trains his eyes on the tiger, playing mindlessly with it. 

 

Bitgaram, is what they name the male, a light river, just like what they are supposed to have for each other. Or in Mark’s opinion. Apparently, Donghyuck is not on the same page, and though his sunny smile never fades, it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. 

  
  


“Hyuck.” Mark calls once they entered their room. 

 

The guard hums as he peels off his sweater, cracking his neck as he checks the pile of documents piled on his desk. They got a desk for the guard, once the work started to pile up, all sent in by Yuta. Lots of security-related things to do; even worse if you are Yuta’s least favourite guard. 

 

He sighs as he rustles through the parchments, staring forlornly at the amount of accounting, crediting, deployment he has to do. God, he hates Yuta. And he hates Mark too, for looking at him with those sorry eyes, as if the pain the  _ royal _ inflicted wasn’t just the most heart-stabbing one in the world. 

 

“Don’t.” He says, as he settles at his desk, dipping brush into ink as he takes the first stack. “Don’t feel sorry. It only makes things worse. I’m sorry. I assumed we  _ both _ wanted the same thing, but apparently not.” 

 

“No, Hyuck, it’s not-” 

 

“No, I get it, Mark. I get it. It’s fine.” Donghyuck mumbles as he cuts in, brush already fast on paper once he’s scanned the information on the script. “Look, can we talk about this later? I really need to get this done.” 

 

Mark knows he’s lying; the younger would drop anything to talk to him, to the point he always felt bad for making him hand in work late. He takes the cue to leave the guard alone, and takes a walk out the front of his pavillion, the rest of the guards and servants walking close behind, giving him a false sense of security. Nowhere is safe without Donghyuck by his side. 

  
  
  


“Okay, spill.” Johnny says, as he pours the tea. Their masters are busy in the King’s room, finalising the final plans for the coronation happening next month. 

 

“There’s nothing to spill.” Donghyuck says stubbornly as he sips the hot tea, burning down his throat like lava. 

  
  


They never spoke about it, but again, things have shifted. 

 

Mark has been busier than ever. Ever since he agreed to be King, he spends half his day in the King’s room, and the other half in Doyoung’s and Kun’s office, or in their meeting rooms. Donghyuck, has been convieniently promoted to Imperial Guard, now not only having to deal with the pile of work sent daily from Yuta’s office, but having to shoulder the responsibility of training a hundred guards under his stead. A preparation for the five hundred he will have to lead next time. 

 

Things were different from Johnny when he was guarding the King-then-prince, because Prince Ten was the useless prince that no one really cared for; and his guard received same overlooked treatment. But all eyes are on Mark as he ascends to accept the Crown Prince title; he is already anticipated to bring great change and progress to the country. 

 

Donghyuck wishes he could shoulder some of the burdens that Mark carries, but they don’t even share a room anymore. 

 

It’s more of Donghyuck’s choice and mistake, deciding to move his things to the adjacent room, rather than live in with Mark. His excuse was the lack of space, what with the shelves and drawers now crammed into his much smaller room, overflowing with paper; but in reality, he just can’t bear to stay with Mark, knowing that they will fall back into the intimacy they shared, and yet it was all just for Mark’s guilty pleasure, and never anything beyond that. 

 

Of course, Donghyuck’s idea is wrong. Mark never wanted Donghyuck just to satisfy his physical needs. He just wasn’t ready. He is still on the rocky road to recovery from his traumatic past, and he is taking on the role of a Prince. Just a little over a year ago, he was on the streets, fighting for food, and now he is here, preparing for his coronation. Things are in rapid progression; he hasn’t had time to process it, much less think about what he really feels towards Donghyuck. 

 

But, as always, silence only nurtures misunderstanding, so of course, Donghyuck doesn’t know what Mark thinks and vice versa. They are even worse than the King and his guard. Ten always wanted to repair their relationship. To some extent, they both knew what they wanted. Neither Mark nor Donghyuck have even initiated repairing their relationship. They just let the open wounds rot in the air.

  
  


“You think I’m blind, but I’m not, Haechannie.” Johnny says affectionately. “I can tell there’s definitely something wrong between the two of you.” 

 

But no matter how much Johnny prods, Donghyuck spills nothing, waving it off saying it would be ‘fine’. 

 

But would it? 

  
  
  
  
  
  


The coronation takes place beautifully. Mark is first pardoned, of course, before a crown is placed on his head, robes, all elaborate, are draped over him. Mark was jittery with nervousness, but feels ease seeping through him as he takes his seat high up the throne. He can only hear whispers of discontentment at his post; but for the most part, all around China and many other parts, they celebrate his ascension. 

 

It is groundbreaking. Gone away are the myths of the emperor being a son of the heavens; now, constitution changes to dictate that anyone can be a prince or King, so long as they have the qualifications, pass certain examinations, and are nominated by the royalty themselves. In which, Mark has fulfilled all, recently excelling in his examinations with flying colours, despite his lack of education from the palace. Doyoung works wonders. 

 

The wedding of the King and his guard is even more beautiful, and Donghyuck distracts himself with preparations, arranging the guards and formations, overseeing security checks ran on the guests, but still, he is forced to see them exchange rings as he stands next to Mark as his guard, a twist in his heart.

 

Mark himself, feels tense as he watches the couple exchange vows and kisses. He bites the inside of his cheek as he urges himself to plaster a smile as he welcomes the guests, not the least flinching when Donghyuck’s finger brush his arm, pulling him a little when people come too close for the comfort of a royal, hand always on his dagger. 

 

A cut of pain runs through Mark as he realises, that no matter what and how he treats Donghyuck, his guard will still treat him all the same; like he’s the most precious gem of them all.

  
  
  
  
  


The prince walks back to their quarters, Donghyuck, the other guards and the servants walking with him to his doorstep. There were a few eyebrows raised the first time Donghyuck didn’t step into the room together with the royal, but now, it is like any other day, and they are about to pass when Mark catches Donghyuck’s wrist. 

 

The guard turns to face him, and Mark nearly startles. He only hasn’t seen much of the guard for a few months, and yet it is as if the guard had grown up, matured, losing that childlike innocence he always had. Sure, he catches Donghyuck sometimes joking with the other guards, but his jokes lose a little of their humour, his tone’s lost a little of their spark and sarcastic edge. It’s like he is looking like a whole other person. 

 

“Is anything the matter, prince?” Donghyuck asks politely as he gently removes the prince’s grip on his wrist. Something unpleasant twists in his heart and bitter bile rises up his throat as he hear those words, detached of meaning, emotion or familiarity. 

 

He slams the door shut in the guard’s face. 

  
  
  
  


Donghyuck sighs heavily as he runs his fingers through his hair, remembering the sour look on Mark’s face and the way the door slammed shut, noise echoing as the servants are dead silent. They don’t mention a word, and he pretends he doesn’t hear the floating rumours. Rumours serious enough to rile up the attention of two people. 

 

First is of course, his commander, Yuta. Yuta is scowling as he enters with his stack of papers, Donghyuck inwardly groaning. 

 

“Look,” Yuta concludes after a long rant. “I don’t care what goes on between you and your royal, but your little endeavours or whatever misunderstandings, are distracting our soldiers, and may I remind you,  _ yet again, Guard Lee,  _ that Imperial Guards are not allowed to marry.” 

 

“Guard Seo just go married.” Donghyuck mumbles in short retort. Yuta glares at him. “ _ King _ Seo was never under my command or supervision. You, on the other hand, still are. And under the rules, you are not allowed to marry, unless you put in a petition. Which I don’t think you will, will you?” Yuta’s words are sharp and Donghyuck flinches. 

 

“No.” He mumbles. 

 

“Don’t make me change your position, Guard Lee.” 

 

“Change it.” 

 

“I’m sorry?” Yuta snaps. 

 

“Change my allocation. Deploy me somewhere else.” Donghyuck says louder. He doesn’t want to be the Prince’s guard anymore. Yuta grits his teeth. “Think about it, Guard Lee. I would have swapped you out a long time ago, wouldn’t I? But I didn’t, because I have orders from the King himself. Royals and guards should never be changed, he says.” Yuta obviously finds this ridiculous, but can’t plainly say so. 

 

“I suggest,” Yuta says exasperatingly, “You’d better do something about whatever this is between you and your royal, because this assignment will probably be for life. Now please, take your leave. I feel a headache coming.” 

  
  
  
  


The second, is of course, Johnny. He is called into the Kings’ room, only to stutter as he sees Doyoung, Kun, the two kings, and of course his one and only royal, sitting together at the table, playing a round of mahjong. He feels something spike in him as he realises that Johnny, who was previously a guard, had always been invited, but never him. 

 

He bows respectfully, and the royals and nobles all smile at him; except for Mark of course, who seems to have frozen on the spot, glaring at the tiles before him.

 

“Did Yuta call you in today?” Johnny asks as he interprets Donghyuck’s sour expression. Donghyuck merely nods in reply, eyes trained on the tiles, never anywhere else. Ten’s gaze is too piercing, Johnny’s gaze is too soft, he might break, Doyoung’s gaze is unforgiving, and Kun’s gaze is one of oblivion, so he’d rather not look at any of them. 

 

“Come, sit.” Kun offers, patting a spot next to him, opposite Mark. “Know how to play mahjong?” Donghyuck shakes his head and Kun simply smiles, offering to teach him. 

 

The east wind always blows first, and the person on his right, the East, Doyoung, deals first. They have already stacked up their walls of 18 when Donghyuck came in, so Doyoung simply throws the dices and the tiles shift and split, decreasing to 12 and then up again to 13 as they each draw one more, disposing the extras in the cage of the four walls. 

 

They play, but no one is really paying attention, as all mahjong players do. The mahjong is mundane, what’s interesting is the gossip exchanged over it. 

 

The adults are talking about some political uprisings up north, though not yet any of their concern. Then they speak of trading relations of the sort, and Donghyuck watches Mark as he throws and picks a tile, eyebrows knitted together. He isn’t listening either. 

 

They let the noise wash over them, the tiles knocking on the table, the whispers and shouts of passion. They are watching each other and they know it, till Donghyuck can’t stand it, their tension running so high, he clears his throat and tears his eyes away as Mark lets down his walls. 

  
  
  


It’s a pure hand. 

  
  
  
  


Doyoung smiles as he pats Mark’s back, but Mark is watching Donghyuck, who is swallowing hard. 

 

“I suggest we adjourn for the night.” Ten says carefully, and Donghyuck is the first to leave the room, speeding down the hallways, Mark hot on his heels. 

 

Everything is too much, overflowing. Mark is just sitting there, like nothing had ever happened,  everyone sitting around, playing mahjong, talking about mundane stuff, and him—was it just him?—feeling like everything has been torn apart. 

 

“Hyuck! Hyuck, wait.” Mark is panting as he catches up, pulling Donghyuck’s wrist. He pulls a little too hard, his finger catching the fragile and old red thread, breaking it loose as the gold tablet clanks onto the floor.

 

Donghyuck just looks at it, lying flat there, insignificantly and innocently, the words ‘Haechan’ stare back at him. He runs his fingers through his hair as he picks it up. The metal, due to it’s near pureness, just a little indented. 

 

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, I’ll have another made for you.” Mark quickly says when he sees the damage done. 

 

“No, it’s okay.” Donghyuck says quietly under his breath, tucking the tablet into his pocket. Damaged. That’s what they all are, isn’t it? Damaged. And to think of all the years he tried to mask it with normalcy. Ridiculous. Childish, almost. 

 

“Donghyuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…...put it in the way I did. I just, everything is so confusing, so fast, I haven’t had time to really process anything. I hadn’t had time to actually think, about you, about me, about us. And I’m sorry.” Mark says out in a rush, eyes searching Donghyuck’s for apology. 

 

The guard desperately wants to bite back. What is there to think about? If it is love, it is felt, not thought up of. Still, he has to understand. Mark isn’t like him. More importantly, he can’t just force Mark to reciprocate his feelings. 

 

“Okay,” is all he says, before he walks away, and the answer is unsatisfactory as he is pulled back. 

 

“‘Okay’? That’s it?” Mark says, hurt. “Didn’t….didn’t the past few months mean anything?” 

 

“What else am I supposed to say, Prince Lee?” Donghyuck tries to swallow back the cutting edge, but it is already out in the open as he snaps in retort. “Of course the past few months meant something. It should mean something more to me than it would ever do to you anyway.” 

 

  
“It was unbalanced. Our relationship.” Donghyuck says quietly. “If there was even one.” He voiced out the uncertainty of their entire situation, which only added fuel to fire. “And anyway, I’m a guard, you’re a prince. It will never work.” 

 

“It worked for Ten, and it worked for Johnny. It will work for us, too.” Mark states, eyes pleading. 

 

“That’s different. Johnny wasn’t on a, a loan, Mark.” Donghyuck doesn’t know why he is revealing this, but he does anyway. “I’m on a loan. I’m repaying a debt. This is what I have to do. For life. Johnny wasn’t on debt. He can easily be promoted, easily shift through the ranks. I  _ can’t _ . This is part of the deal.”

 

“What deal?” Mark asks, helpless. 

 

“It doesn’t matter.” Donghyuck mutters, stepping away. “Anyhow, it’s fine. I….it was stupid of me to even suggest it. We’re both still young anyways. Look, I figured…..I figured it would be better if we stay away from each other, don’t you think? I’ll file in for a-” 

 

“ _ What _ are you talking about?” Mark spits out, eyes burning with a new kind of rage that Donghyuck has never seen before. Perhaps the kind of fury that drives him far enough to slice through someone’s neck back in the day. It sends shivers down Donghyuck’s back. 

 

“I’m just saying-” 

 

“Don’t you even dare try to run away.” Mark says, dangerously soft, and Donghyuck feels the fear coursing through him again. Tears well in his eyes as he tries to calm his breathing. It’s just Mark, it’s not a monster he is seeing. 

 

“Mark, stop.” Donghyuck says, trembling as he averts his eyes from the glint in the near black eyes. 

 

Mark visibly softens at the sight of Donghyuck trembling at him. What the hell happened to them? He grits his teeth as he punches into the wall, the gravel sticking to his flesh as blood trickles down his knuckles. Donghyuck doesn’t even attempt to ask him if he is okay, staring helplessly at the royal, loneliness swamping and engulfing them; the lone moon shining her rays on two lost souls, parchment losing itself as black overrides it. 

  
  
  
  


Yuta hears of what happened, after a series of breakdowns he goes through with Donghyuck, and although he doesn’t exactly approve of Donghyuck as a guard, with those less-than-average swordsmanship skills, he still has a hidden soft spot for the boy, and against all orders, he swaps Donghyuck out, leaving him to guard another noble, Huang Renjun, a Chinese associate here for some studies in the palace. 

 

Huang Renjun is by no means, a nice boy. He is not your usual sweet talker. There is no conversation without him making some witty cutting remarks or a dose of sarcasm. Donghyuck likes it. It makes him learn how to laugh again. 

 

Despite his rather high noble status, Renjun is not cold, nor bossy, nor arrogant. He takes everything in his stride, moving with the grace and confidence of a noble, but humble enough to speak with Donghyuck, plant jokes at the quarters, laughing as their superiors fume once again as they are drenched in cold water. It’s nice to have another person your age in the lonely large palace, where everyone is older than you. It’s like the childlike innocence, once lost, is now slowly blooming back to life. 

 

The mischievous pair bring some colour to the grounds, and they are a source of entertainment to everybody. 

 

Except Mark. 

 

He fumed when the guard waiting upon him was not Donghyuck, but Wong Yukhei, a guard deployed from another state of China, Hong Kong. He storms into Yuta’s office, demanding a reason, but the Commander stands firm, and his two adoptive fathers will not budge either. 

 

“It will be good for both of you, Mark.” Ten soothes as he cries into the King’s chest, drenching the entire golden robe. “You two are like two matchsticks; you will only burn each other out. He’s still hurting, Mark. You have to give him some time.” 

 

But how much is ‘some’ time? Years? Decades? He doesn’t want to be like Ten and Johnny, who only had their happily ever after six years later. Nearly a decade since they met. How Ten and Johnny soldiered through those six years has him wondering how strong they are, when he can barely breathe for a second, without a glimpse of Donghyuck. 

  
  


Yukhei is nice. He’s funny, he’s sweet, he’s kind, he’s loud, he’s a lot like Donghyuck. But he isn’t. He isn’t Haechan, the boy who brought sun into his life, blooming the barren land with flowers. He isn’t the boy who would cradle his tear stained face when he breaks out in cold sweat, dreams of his past still haunting him. He isn’t the boy who would stain his body with kisses, his warm, tanned body pressed against his pale, milky white one. He just isn’t  _ his  _ Donghyuck. 

 

He’s not going to be unfair to Yukhei. He knows what Donghyuck would tell him. ‘Give him a chance!’ he would say, in that teasing voice. So he does give Yukhei a shot, and to be fair, the boy does make him laugh; teaches him almost, how to laugh again. 

 

And perhaps that is how it would be; two roads merge in the woods, and then, they diverge again, to better, happier places. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> scream at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/tenecty)  
> or [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me) I'M SORRY BUT WE R ABOUT TO DESCEND TO ANGST HELL here's a heads up


	9. 3176 WRITTEN AND CROSSED OUT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thankyou for all the comments and kudos uwuwuwu im really thankful that so many people enjoy this fic and this universe. 
> 
> a third installment will be up once this fic is finished and it is called 'if i ever get lost' inspired by the lyrics of dear DREAM TT anywaysss hope you guys enjoy this next load of angst and hell and if you want, follow me on [tumblr](https://tenecity.tumblr.com/) or  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/tenecty)  
> 

**NINE———3176 WRITTEN AND CROSSED OUT**

 

His heart aches, but the pain ebbs away (or does he become more used to it?) One year, is what it took to not actively search for Donghyuck, sobbing as he craves for the guard’s touch. The second year, he began to gather his strength, and regain ground as he learnt studiously from Doyoung, keeping himself busy, thoughts of his ex-guard at bay. Three, four years, and he is back on track, prospering, learning, thriving.

 

Mark is likeable. Surely, stubborn, a tad bit of arrogance and aloof, but he is likeable. He is kind, generous, and empathetic. He knows and understands what the people are going through, because he had gone through it himself. He is taking more visits to the provinces, further and further out to the unreached, showing them the love and care the royal family has for the people. He no longer needs Ten and Johnny to accompany him; he could well go on his own, and the people would love him nonetheless. 

 

He was building his own rapport and reputation, and the selfless officials which Ten had put in power, began to recognise his ability and aptitude as a leader. Leaders, do not simply instruct from above. They do, as Ten does, and Mark does; they go on the ground and in the field, working side by side with their workers, chattering, putting them on equal level, and yet, when they speak to the masses, their heads are held high as they hold authority, a hush on the marketplace as the people hang on their every word. 

 

Hence, the wise officials began to nod their heads in approval at the young men, now at the age of twenty-four, grown and lean, wise and knowledgeable, but never losing a spark of youth as he speaks with children or the young people; inspiring the next generation. Slowly, but surely, albeit their previous frowns and suspicions, Mark wins their trust and loyalty, and Ten smiles at the way Mark listens intently to a couple of officials, taking their advice seriously. 

 

And all would be well and happy; a little open wound in his heart, but that’s okay. He has his career set, his studies in check, a loving family with Ten and Johnny doting on him, and Donghyuck and Renjun well out of his sight as they moved to the other end of the palace, where the foreign business partners reside.

 

But it isn’t. Life is never a straight road. What is it, without some tragedy? 

  
  
  


Illness hits China, hard. It’s viral, it’s going around faster than lightning, and Kun is desperately trying to find the cost, while Doyoung is busy managing the logistics, the moving of people, medical supplies, who needs what more. There should never be priority, but they won’t prepared, and if you’re running a fever for five days in a row, nearly dead as the tips of your fingers run ink black,  _ we’re sorry, sir, no, you can’t have the medication for your daughter _ . They can’t afford to waste precious and scarce resources on people with no hope. 

 

The pharmacies are flooded, the palace has locked its gates, though it’s own medical department is pumping out supplies to the world outside of it. Inside, it is hectic as they try to sterilise everything, and ensure that anyone who has stepped foot outside of the palace once during the week, is quarantined. 

  
  


Mark has his hands full, given jobs for real this time, assigned to ensure processes are running smoothly, while his foster fathers run long meetings with officials with permanent frowns, trying to find a solution to the problem. 

 

Kun makes an important and valuable discovery; but it only adds more panic into the hearts of the higher ups. The virus is water-borne, and it is monsoon season, still waters everywhere, easy for the viruses to manifest. But, it is a good enough information, as notices are quickly put up, instructing citizens to only accept water that has been checked by the royal departments, and to ensure their houses stay as dry as possible.

  
  


Still, the provinces suffer. The nearest royally approved well is five miles away, while their river is just five steps from their houses. Desperate and thirsty, despite it being the season with the most rainfall, villagers are bound to simply drink out of stale river waters that have multitudes of germs in them. 

  
  
  


“Ten,  _ no _ .” Johnny is on the verge of tears as he grips hard onto Ten’s wrist. 

 

“Please, no. It’s far too dangerous.” He pleads as he stares into Ten’s eyes, glistening under the candlelight, while the King runs his fingers through his hair, unwilling to look for too long in his spouse’s eyes. Tears will only choke him, fear coursing through his veins, and he wants none of that. He wants to gather the courage he always has in him, and he  _ will _ do it. 

 

“I’m a King, Johnny.” He explains slowly, soothing the sobbing other, rubbing his thumb over the wet cheeks as Johnny hangs his head in helplessness. He can’t change Ten’s mind once it is set, and he knows, but still, he tries. 

  
  


“A King will do everything in his power, for his people.” 

  
  
  
  


Ten walks in, not the least flinching at the gaping villagers, who drop their drenched clothes, bowing deep. Never, in the history of China, has there been a King, who would willingly walk through the most viral infested areas, to see the sick, comfort them, teach them how to protect themselves. 

 

He wears nothing that could protect him of the virus that could be passed through human fluids. He shakes hands, despite knowing the cost of doing so. He wears simply, cotton. No crown, no flowing robes of gold. He puts himself on the equal level; a message sent out:  _ he is in this with them _ . There is no  _ saving ourselves and forgetting about the lower classes _ . It is about getting through this _ together _ , one nation, one people.

 

Only a few guards are by his side; he strictly declined having Johnny nor Mark with him. As much as this is about showing that he cares deeply for the people, and to physically show his concern, by spoon feeding some who near death, he is not willing to sacrifice those he loves the most. 

  
  


And yet, he sacrifices  _ himself _ . 

 

Did he think he was infalliable? The coughing stains of blood on napkins, the fever running high for five days, ink black running through his fingers; even in his weak state, he has his servants lock his room shut, evacuating everyone, pushing Johnny away. Even in his weakness, he holds the authority and power, and if it is his dying wish, they will comply. No one can turn away those hard set eyes that brim with pain and fierce protection.

 

Royal physicians do everything in their power, but the illness is beyond them, and as the clock strikes familiarly, the life passes out of the benevolent King, deep in his sleep, as dawn arrives. 

  
  
  
  


Johnny shatters, Kun stares blankly, Doyoung is shouting at the physicians, before breaking into fresh sobs, and Mark stands numb as he hears the news, holding himself steady against the wall as he takes in a sharp breath. Yet again, fate plays him, and he loses someone he loves. When will he stop losing them? First, his family; then Ah Ma, then it was Donghyuck, and now Ten? 

 

His face pales and his blood runs cold as a lone tear stain his paper-white face, his hands wrapped around his one remaining foster parent, both grieving as their hearts clench in unfathomable pain. They can’t even scream and shout, and blame anyone. It is no one’s fault. Just an underhand play by Fate and her ally, Mother Nature. 

  
  
  


Donghyuck visibly pales and retches at the news, Renjun immediately soothing him by rubbing his back, as burning acid is thrown into the pot. He cries, sobs hard, into Renjun’s chest, hands shaking. He thinks of all the times Ten regards him with a gentle smile, the way Ten spoke to the guards, complimenting him when no one did. He thinks of the way Ten took care of Mark like he was his biological son, and grief strangles him as he gasps for air, tears trickling in a non-stop flow. 

 

The nation mourns, as white flags are hung, and nation flags fly at half-mast. The body is wrapped and kept in a wooden box, away from anyone as it could still hold transmittable diseases. As such, the people can only leave their flowers and cries at the door of the palace where they have set up a memorial, the kind, sharp face of their King on parchment, staring at them gently. 

 

By Johnny’s request, they bury him a few feet away from the cave, guards shovelling the snow as they create a well to put the coffin in. It’s nothing elaborate, Ten had made it very clear, and they could only watch from a distance, for fear that the virus would infect more royals. 

 

Johnny is kneeling on the ground in his white mourning garments, the tigers licking his salty drops with their tongues, eyes large and sad. Despite their differences, the tigers roar and purr in pain as they nuzzle their heads into Johnny’s body, breaking him on the inside as his heart shatters at the constant reminder of Ten. 

 

Mark watches the ceremony with his face blank; it is his default defense mechanism to detach emotions during traumatic events, and still, he can feel the twinge of his heart as they lower the casket. After all, humans can never ever be void of feelings, as much as we would like to. 

 

Donghyuck stands a little away, heart wrenching at the sight of the casket being swallowed up by the ground, silent sobs from the royals reaching his ears with a sting. He watches, helpless from his position, as he sees Johnny breakdown into the tigers necks, Doyoung and Kun, distraught, and his one and only royal, looking like the gods have just taken everything from him.

 

He aches to wrap his arms around Mark and tell him he is okay, but the hollow, cold, hard eyes, that barely give him a glance, has him heavy, knowing that he can’t do that.

  
  
  
  


The palace is always an odd place. Seven days arrive and go, with the burial complete, business is as usual. There is no stopping for one person’s death, when millions beyond the palace walls are suffering. Johnny throw himself into the work Ten had begun, and together with Kun and some other physicians, come up with a cure. They try their best to hand it out as quickly as possible, but the deaths of 2 million and counting, cannot be avoided. 

 

Doyoung is busy with Mark, as he prepares him to take up more responsibilities, the workload once split between five, now split between four, and since Ten took the bulk of it, everyone was weighed down with ten thousand other responsibilities that had no end. Paperwork is endless, and the people streaming into his newly built office is similarly never ending. Mark rubs his temples at the end of yet another long day, fingers kneading the tight spots as he closes his eyes, head bowed, heart heavy. 

  
  
  
  


“Me?” Donghyuck blinks, wide eyed at Master Huang, Renjun’s father. The man smiles a little. He likes the boy very much, so bubbly and cheery, exactly what is needed to balance out Renjun’s rather cold and far too sarcastic sharp mouth.

 

“Yes, you. Once Commander Nakamoto finishes the last of the documents, you are free to come along with us.” The man repeats, once more, grinning at the way Donghyuck’s face breaks into a smile, face full of happiness, albeit with a tinge of sadness. 

 

“Is…..anything the problem? Please tell us, Donghyuck. You are family now.” 

  
  


Donghyuck swallows hard, and breathes deep. His voice is confident, but undercurrents hold telltale signs of nervousness. 

 

“Can I request to go to the southern mountains, sir?” 

  
  
  
  


Just his luck, Donghyuck curses at his poor timing as he wraps an arm around himself, hands warming themselves, while Renjun trails behind him, eyes curious. “The heck is that?” The noble gasps at the sight in front of him, ahead of himself as he runs towards the tigers, only to halt a few steps as he takes in the glare of the royal. 

 

“Prince Lee.” He bows respectfully. “Are these yours? Amazing!” Renjun exclaims as he crouches, taking in the tigers with great interest. 

 

In the years that he didn’t visit, the tigers have grown a fair bit, now too large and heavy for him to carry. He hangs a little back, watching as Renjun coos at the tigers, completely unaware of the still humid air between the held gaze of the royal and his previous guard. 

 

Donghyuck swallows hard as he inclines his head. “Prince Lee. I didn’t know you would be here.” 

 

“And if you knew?” Mark retorts, snapping his gaze away as he turns his attention back to the tigers, stroking their fur, running the silkiness through his fingers. His guard, Wong Yukhei, stands a little behind him, and he inclines his head in greeting to Donghyuck. 

 

Donghyuck swallows hard as the grip on his fingers tighten, and he watches Mark’s forehead crease into permanent frowns as he studies the animals, rubbing their foreheads as the pair purr for his attention. 

  
  
  


“A word, Guard Lee.” Mark sighs as he gets up, raising his hand to decline Yukhei to follow. “Privately.” His eyes are sharp and dark, and they command as always. 

 

Donghyuck reluctantly trails after him into the lush trees, new greens growing from the once-chilled barks. He watches the nape of Mark’s head as he follows him into the privacy of the dense fauna, and he yearns to reach and wrap his arms around it, burrowing his face into the warmth, but he can’t. Not when things aren’t alright between them. 

 

Mark abruptly turns, and his breath hitches as Donghyuck moves a step back on reflex. He grits his teeth, and narrows his eyes. “Why did you bring Huang Renjun here?” 

 

The guard is never short of comebacks, and one comes out before he has the time to shut his sharp mouth. “Well, you brought Guard Wong.” 

 

Mark narrows his eyes, fury building in his chest. “He’s my  _ bodyguard, _ Lee Donghyuck. It’s different.” Unspoken words tell Donghyuck that what Mark means to say, is that there wouldn’t be these extra intruders, extra people who knew of the tigers, if he had stayed as his guard. Donghyuck says nothing, staring blankly at the ground, refusing to let his guard down. 

 

“This was supposed to be  _ ours _ , Hyuck.” Mark says quietly, and he pretends he doesn’t hear Donghyuck’s sharp intake of breath. 

 

Donghyuck bites his lips as his heart drops at those words.  _ Ours _ . A powerful word. Putting them together in one unit. It was what Donghyuck thought they both wanted years ago, in which he thought it wasn’t reciprocated. Well, now it is, and it’s too late. 

  
  


He swallows down rising bile as he softly says his words. “Nothing is ours anymore, Mark.” His bottom lip trembles as tears well in his eyes at his own words, daggers, self-inflicted into his heart. 

 

Mark’s heart sinks, and his posture slumps as he rubs his temples, biting his lips.

 

He is surprised at the surge of energy Donghyuck has, a tentative press of the lips, just short of contacting his own, and yet, he can test the saltiness on them. He craved this, for four, whole years, and his resolve collaspes as he yanks Donghyuck back, hands firm as they hold the small of Donghyuck’s back, lips capturing the younger’s. 

 

They move messily, desperate, hungry. They’ve been starved of what they had so abundantly four years ago, and now, they could have it all they want. Fire sparks, and is drenched in a flood of tears from both, tears not their own, staining their cheeks. Donghyuck fights the urge to pull away, wrapping his arms around Mark’s neck, tiptoeing to reach his height, sobbing as his heart cracks in pain. This could very well be their last kiss; he’d better make it count. 

 

Mark sighs as he pulls Donghyuck impossibly closer, their lips crashing over and over again, never getting enough of each other. They ignore the screams of their lungs for air, and take each other’s breath away. Donghyuck brushes Mark’s hair, while Mark draws circles along his back; pressed so close to each other, every fibre is awake and sensations run wild. 

 

Mark moves his lips low, tracing the jawline he used to only dream of, down the neck, that is fully exposed for him. Donghyuck gives him the mewls he always wanted to hear as he creates a prominent mark just below the collar, marking him as  _ his.  _

 

“I missed you.” Mark pants, knocking his forehead against Donghyuck’s, lips chasing the rolling tears. Donghyuck whimpers as he grips onto Mark’s shoulders, as if to tell him, the feeling is mutual. 

  
  


“I love you.” Donghyuck whispers. “I love you. Just remember that.” He says, as he breathes deep, air catching the next wave of sobs in his throat. He smiles through the aching in his heart, and with one last touch, one last chaste kiss, he is running back to Renjun, back to the palace, and out of it, leaving Mark, to watch him go, slipping past his fingers, once again. 

  
  
  
  
  


Now he knows what Donghyuck means. 

 

“What do you mean the Huangs are leaving?” 

 

“They’ve already left, sir.” The servant says politely and evenly, and he is bolting out of the door, out of breath as he desperately searches through the entire compound, only to find it empty. He can still taste the strawberries on Donghyuck’s lips, mixed with his tears, ‘I love you’ on his tongue. 

 

He demands, and bangs and flips tables, angered and at a loss. No amount of soothing from Johnny, no amount of rationalising from Doyoung, no amount of cool-headed calming from Kun, and no amount of apologies from Yuta, can ease his pain, sharp, searing hurt running through his entire body. 

 

After much needed explanation from a stammering Yuta, he finally understands what Donghyuck has been trying to say. 

 

The Huangs have paid off the debt Donghyuck was paying, on behalf of his dead father to the state, and have employed him as Renjun’s studying partner, adopting him as their second son. They have left, to travel through China. They are after all, merchants by nature, and they were seeking for new opportunities in new lands. 

 

In other words, 

  
  


Donghyuck is gone.

 

And he had known, and he had come to the tiger’s cave to say his last goodbye. Mark wonders, if he hadn’t coincidentally met him there, if Donghyuck would ever come say farewell to him. 

  
  


Is Donghyuck oblivious? No amount of ‘I love you’s, will ever ease the pain etched and printed on Mark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ask me questions about the universe or anything on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me) hehe
> 
> iloveyall and imsorrysjdbakjhsljad


	10. 4044 PERMANENT INK, LATER.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thankyou for all your comments last chapter!!! I REALLY AM SORRY SO HERE"S A LITTLE CURE FOR THE PAIN????MAYBE????? 
> 
> we have reached the last official chapter of this fic! the next one will be an epilogue and...im really hoping you will love it!

**TEN———4044 PERMANENT INK, LATER.**

 

 

Donghyuck’s heart shattered when he whispered those words to Mark. He knows full well, that he will never have a chance to say those words to Mark again. He isn’t going to come back to the palace anytime soon; the Huangs have finished their work in the palace and are granted permission to visit all states, searching for openings to expand their rice trade business. 

 

Renjun’s father is a good man; when he knew of what Donghyuck had suffered, he immediately recognised the lack of parental figures in the boy’s early childhood, and knew, despite the boy being now twenty-three years old, he is in desperate need for some mentorship and guidance from someone older, and someone who can constantly be there for him. 

 

So, with no moral obligation to do so, he took it upon himself to take the boy under his wing, and offered him a chance to be Renjun’s study partner, and travel China and the Silk Road, to understand the economics of trade. He didn’t know, that it would be so heartbreaking for Donghyuck to leave the place he had called home for the past twenty-three years. 

 

He glances at the boy, staring out forlornly into the open, barren fields, deep in thought, Renjun next to him, rubbing soothing circles on the back of his hand. A gold tablet, tainted, sits where his collarbones dip, reflecting the morning rays of the sun. It should be beautiful, but it only strikes sadness in Mr. Huang’s heart, and he promises, to make the boy happy again. 

  
  


And he does so, by giving him ample opportunities to explore and taste the world; let him live life. He takes Renjun and Donghyuck to the marketplace brimming with diversity: from Chinese herbs, to sweet smelling spices from the Persians, to the wrinkling of noses as they try the different plants and fruits, laughing as cranberries stain their lips. They have the privilege to sit through important meetings, Donghyuck never failing to take down some notes, and always, always asking questions that amused merchants will always reply to. 

 

His sweet, honey voice, so melodious, is the cure for Renjun’s rather sickly mother. She dotes on him, giving him the drumstick, or the fish cheek, smiling and rolling her eyes as Renjun whines, and of course, she gives him as well. 

 

She smiles as Donghyuck talks animatedly to her, but even she, in her weakness, has the sharp eyes to always notice the little less of a spark on gloomy days, or the way he stares so sadly at rising and dipping mountains, as if he is carrying the weight of the world. 

 

“What’s wrong, child?” She asks, soft and gentle, like a lulling breeze on the beaches. Donghyuck was greatly amused at the crashing waves, and he had soaked himself in the saltiness, until his heart ached, yearning to bring Mark here with him. He had hastily extracted himself from the warm beaches, and hurried into the house, face stricken; prompting his adoptive mother to follow him. 

 

Donghyuck shakes his head, not wanting to answer the question. For years, no one asked him this, besides Johnny. He wasn’t used to opening up to just anybody. 

 

Renjun’s mother, who he now calls MaMa, cradles him in her chest, speaking soothingly. Twenty-three he might be, but he was emotionally impaired, as he wasn’t given the opportunities to ever deal with emotions that came with rising hormones. He was taught to suppress, feel nothing, as a guard should, when they slice the neck of their enemies. 

 

He cries, soft and silent, unlike most of his sobs, into her chest. Something about the gentle tune, her soft fingers, and the warmth she gives off, the love she showers on him, things his own mother could never give, has him like this: silent tears in silent grief. 

  
  
  


Eventually, she coaxes him, and with time, she understands what burdens the young man: love, mourning, traumas, terrors, the lack of parental love. And she gives, as much as she can, but there is always one space she can never fill, and although she introduces nice men to Donghyuck, he is always polite and respectful as he rejects each and every one of them. She can only sigh, as Donghyuck sends her an apologetic smile, shaking her head in reassurance. 

 

She understands. It’s not his fault. Some people, you can never just rub off, and cross out. They stay, in golden ink, permanently and stubbornly; irreplaceable. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Mark is busy. Johnny, with his grief and mourning, has deemed himself unfit for the throne, and has abdicated to Mark. Thrown into the position he only ever could dream of, he was zealous in his efforts as he sorted out the court, and made accurate predictions and judgements, that only served his nation well. 

 

He foresaw that the Silk Road will meet its end, as the Persians have learnt from the Europeans how to build large ships, ships that could carry cargo, men, ten times more than a camel could. The seas was always the easier and safer route; thieves not so easy, and with a royal fleet guarding the waters constantly, pirating cases will decrease tremendously. 

 

Hence, he proposed that the efforts made into the Silk Road be cut down, and funds should be pumped into the port and the building of ships. In less than a year, a bustling port was made out of Shanghai, and the number of ships landing here for trade, or to transit, are more than they can count. 

 

His accurate deduction was largely applauded, and he was recognised by other countries as well, as they sent ambassadors and gifts to him, hoping to keep their alliances with such a powerful man. 

  
  


As per promised, he worked together with Kun, and they came up with a intricate and detailed syllabus and infrastructure for the education system. All children are required to receive schooling until the age of twelve, and any form of child labour was strictly prohibited. Mark, with his experience and hard felt lessons, had purposefully had this law in place, to prevent the tricklings of child trafficking, and to change the mindset of ignorant parents who prevent their daughters from receiving any form of education.

 

Healthcare, was another thing he intends to improve, with the recent outbreak that had got out of hand. With Kun’s help, and other physicians, a medical school was set up, and an accurate system, crafted with the assistance of Commander Nakamoto, was drafted and tested, keeping them well prepared for any other biological attacks. 

  
  
  
  


On the surface, it seems all is well, and smooth sailing. Sure, sometimes the courts have never ending debates on how things should be done, what percentage of funds should go to what department etc etc. But by far and large, everything was going quite smoothly, and Mark is a successful King. He keeps himself busy, has a balanced lifestyle, a couple of concubines to keep the nosy officials at bay. 

 

Of course, he has never slept with any of them. These concubines, which he hand picked himself, are some very talented girls. Some, are incredibly smart, and with their in-tune emotions and women intuitiveness, they give him some golden advice. Some, are incredibly talented in craftsmanship, and seeing them beg on the streets, or locked into prostitution houses with no other choice of work, he takes them, and lets them do whatever they want. 

 

Some, are mere children, ten or eleven, sold as slaves to rich men in the black market that still seethes with crime though the royals are cracking down on it, and he intercepts whenever they crack a case, bringing them into his courts. He treats them like his own children, careful, tender, loving care, and they do not call him 老公, or husband; they call him, father. 

 

Of course, these things are not told to anyone, and no one knows of it, besides Doyoung, Kun and Johnny. Johnny oversees their care, and while he is still stricken with grief, he finds some remaining love in his heart, and they, in turn, fill his sorrow-filled eyes with joy.

 

Life would have been blissful, perfect, if not for the fact, that he has no idea where Donghyuck is, how he is doing, besides some occasional wisps of rumours from merchants here and there, speaking about the great Huang business, and a short but mesmerising boy they had recently taken under their wing. 

  
  


At some point, these romantic fantasies have blown out of the window for both of them. Donghyuck is preparing to ascend to a manager-like position in the Huang Rice Business, and Mark is busy being King, with a thousand things to think about. 

 

Somewhere in the middle of the scribblings of the pages, they’ve thought they lost each other’s names, each other’s words, memories of each other. They thought, that time would ebb away the pain of longing and suffering, allowing them to forget the circumstances that broke them apart (or was it them, who broke each other?)

 

But try as they might, they will never forget each other. Some words can never be erased, they stay, permanent, irreplaceable. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


A year passes, and the King celebrates his twenty-fifth birthday, a huge celebration for the quarter-life milestone, and the palace, as always, does what it does best: busying themselves to create the most lavish birthday celebrations of all time, guest lists as long as ten feet, silks soft and freshly woven by the silk worms in the mountains, exotic food like bird’s nest soup and live octopus command attention as they settle on the table, the guests ready with compliments flowing from their mouths. 

 

But Mark is not listening to any of them. He is watching one person, and one person alone. 

 

It is no surprise that the biggest rice merchant, crucial to China’s economy, would be present at the table. The business and the palace have a close relationship; the court wants all the support they can get from independent businesses to ensure security and peace. 

 

What is a surprise, is that the great Huang, would bring his adoptive son, a child who everyone knows, is of a low noble status, was once a guard, a good for nothing that couldn’t pass the entrance examinations. Someone, who should at least sit at the end of the table, but instead, he is here, seated next to Renjun and his father, on equal status. 

 

Donghyuck’s head is bowed as his chopsticks play with the grains of rice, swallowing hard, flinching at the constant stares and murmurs all around him. 

  
  
  
  


“Now, Sir Huang, do excuse me for such a imprudent question, but I can not make sense of what this…..is doing here.” The merchant has a large mouth, the most fish-like, cold eyes, gleaming with menace. He gestures at Donghyuck, not even saying his name, not even referring to him as a human. A mere object. 

 

“He hasn’t done anything worthy yet, has he? I only heard he just follows your clever boy around.” The man’s female partner laughs, high and sickly sweet as she smiles at Renjun, earning chuckles from around the table. 

 

“You are too generous, Sir Huang, to have this imbecile in your household. His mother tell me, he is absolutely horrendous! Selfish, almost. She says, he killed his sister.” The man adds on, with a glint in his eyes, and Donghyuck feels like he might just cry, if not for the fact that Renjun is holding tightly onto his hand, telling him to stay strong for a little while more. This is the King’s party after all, they can not just leave. 

 

“He did not.” Renjun retorts, venemous, unable to hold his anger in. how Donghyuck can remain silent, and seemingly calm throughout the entire ordeal is beyond him. “If I were you, Noble Kim, I would be quiet.” 

 

“Renjun.” His father warns, low and deep. It is by no means better to retort with sarcasm and sharp words. It is always better to do so with logic. 

 

“My fellow noble, I do not see what my adoption of _ Donghyuck _ has anything to do with you. This is the King’s birthday, I suggest we keep personal matters out of this party, and be discussed in private instead.” The man speaks smoothly and delicately, wise, but never losing the warning or cutting edge. 

 

“Pardon me, Noble Huang, but this is a serious matter that concerns the King after all! Wasn’t this boy the King’s guard? Pardon me, but I heard he did some rather atrocious things to have his position changed.”

 

“Speaking of which,” the relentless noble’s counterpart continues on airily, “His father had done much wrong to our country, and to our King. I believe,” she looks around the table, earning nods of approval from fellow nobles, “that we all deserve an explanation of why you would pay the loan of the traitor’s son.” 

 

Donghyuck is swallowing hard at those words as he closes his eyes. He is no traitor’s son, no traitor’s son, traitor, traitor, traitor…..

  
  
  


Renjun’s father clenches his fist, and despite his usual gentle and calm disposition, he is in fury at what the nobles are saying, berating the poor man, who, he muses, seems rather unfazed, as if gathering the strength he has. Donghyuck is sitting up straight, breathing in deep as he pushes away his dark thoughts, grasping whatever remaining courage he has. 

 

“My father was no traitor.” Donghyuck says, even and calm, looking straight into the eyes of the accuser. “I did not kill my sister. I may have indirectly caused her death because I did not arrive at the scene in time, but I did not kill her.” His every word drops heavy in the completely silent room, and Mark is watching him with quiet interest. 

 

This is what he never heard. The darkest parts of Donghyuck, things he kept in his heart. Things that even Mark did not know of, was going to be revealed in front of all these strangers, nobles whom he doesn’t know of. 

 

Something like spite spikes in Mark, and he clears his throat, commanding attention. 

 

“Traitor or not, you have interrupted my lunch, gentlemen.” He says, eyes sharp as they glare at Donghyuck, who doesn’t even spare him a glance, still watching the noble who had accused and belittled him. 

 

“If you are here to start a fight, I suggest you leave.” Mark’s words and sharp and has an edge. The other officials calm down and begin to start small talk, pretending nothing has happened. 

 

But the Huangs had quite enough, and with a loud screeching of chairs, they bow, eyebrows furrowed, eyes glaring, as they exit the room with heads held high, Donghyuck trailing after them with equal pride and arrogance that has Mark boiling. 

 

Those Huangs took his Donghyuck away from him, and made him into something different. Donghyuck is no longer quite the same; he holds a different aura of independence, of self-pride and assurance. 

 

It is good, Mark tries to convince himself, as he stares at the empty seats. But perhaps something in him, a jealous seed is sowed, that these changes were not done by him, but by someone else. He hates to admit it, but there is unreasonable anger and envy in him, that Donghyuck opened up to the Huangs, but never once shared his troubles with Mark. 

 

It was always Mark, being the victim, and Donghyuck, coming to cure him with his sunny smiles and intoxicating kisses. Come to think of it, he knows little about Donghyuck; and the information he knows, is from that one afternoon talk with Ten, who himself, did not receive the knowledge first hand. Frustration runs high as he abruptly ends the party, swiftly moving through the grounds in search for one person, and one person alone. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


“Lee Donghyuck.” Mark calls as he watches the man turn around and face him. There is a hint of surprise, but it is quickly masked with unusual evenness and neutrality. The once open book, the boy who wore his heart on his sleeve, is gone, and in its placed, a well trained, cunning businessman, who knows how to play his cards, and how to keep them hidden. 

 

And yet, a small part of Mark reminds him, that perhaps this was always in Donghyuck. Hiding his true feelings, true intentions. Never quite letting anyone see him cry, true grief and sorrow. Always hiding behind sunny smiles and a flash of a neat, bright set of teeth. Maybe, Donghyuck’s default defense mechanism, is always to hide, avoid, never engage. 

 

The opposite of Mark. 

 

With his past, he is always engaging, a silent threat. He always strikes first, for fear someone will take his place. He hides his true feelings behind neutral facades, but he never truly  _ hides away _ , running away. He likes to take things, head on. It is this very underlying impulsiveness and courage, that made him survive through The Red Rubies, all the treachery in his life. It is what makes him King, throwing himself off a cliff, hoping he would fly. 

 

But precisely because they react so differently, they will always find it hard to meet in the middle. Before, it was never an issue, infatuation and young love blinding them. When reality hits them hard in the face, when things take a drastic turn, all the ugliness, the unbalanced, the miscommunications in their relationship are exposed. Damaged, tainted, flaws. 

 

Despite all that, despite knowing that their relationship may never work out, he tries. 

  
  


“Can I have a word with you? It wouldn’t take more than a minute, sir.” 

  
  
  
  
  


Donghyuck says nothing as he leans against the wall, him watching Mark, and Mark watching him. The King clears his throat, and speaks first. “How have you been?” 

 

Donghyuck contemplates between a sharp reply, and a non-committal one. He chooses the latter. “Good.” His answer is short, and not telling. 

 

“Donghyuck, look, I….” Mark trails off as he huffs and runs his fingers through his hair. He doesn’t even know where to start. 

 

“I’m sorry.” He swallows and continues. Apology first, will always put the receiver at more ease. It’s what he has been taught. 

 

“I’m sorry too.” Donghyuck says softly. His heart aches for them both, and yet his pride and something vaguely like anger and frustration will not let him put his guard down. 

 

“My King, I-” 

 

“Just call me Mark. It’s just the two of us.” Mark interrupts, and Donghyuck breathes in a sharp breath. This is not getting any easier. 

 

“Okay, Mark, I…...I’ve loved you for five years now. Five years. That’s a really long time, right?” Donghyuck begins, and he watches Mark’s face etch with pain. He raises his hand as Mark opens his mouth to say something. 

 

He wants this over, and it is now or never. One shot is all he has got, because there is a life waiting outside for him, and he is ready to leave all this behind. You can’t be stuck on the previous page to get to the next. You must finish the very last sentence, the last word, eyes flashing over the last full stop, before you can flip to the next one. He wants a clean ending, he wants it done. It’s what his MaMa recommended, and it’s what he believes, will let him finally heal. 

 

Before, he has always left loose threads everywhere he goes. He keeps the golden tablet his father gave him. He keeps the bloodied doll his sister clutched when she died. He has her hairpin. He goes back to the grave at the same timing as his mother all the time, though he can always choose to go at different one. He needs to give himself a closing, a clean ending, then he can extract himself from this loop, this page, and move on, finally, to the next. 

  
  


“I’ve loved you for so long, and I know, perhaps you did love me at some point. But right now, loving each other isn’t going to do both of us much good. It’s time to move on. It would be good for both of us. We….started out messy, unconfirmed. We were young and foolish. It would be better if we let each other go, and stop hurting one another.

 

“When I said that I thought we would get married in the future, believe me, I really thought of it to be true. But I was young and naive, and I didn’t think carefully, and I’m  _ sorry. _ Your response should have been expected, but I let it get to me.

 

“I should have told you that I was leaving; it would have been better for us, and this wouldn’t have dragged on for another year. I’m almost happy, and I’m sure you are too, and yet there is always an empty space, that was supposed to be meant for you.

 

“But I think, it’s time to move on. It’s time to let go. We can’t keep…..pining for each other, when we can never really have each other anymore. We are further than ever, Mark. I don’t even  _ know _ what happened in the past five years of your life. And I’m  _ sorry _ , I really am, but this can’t go on. 

 

“I want to start anew. I want to leave the palace behind. It’s been a big part of me, and will always be, but it’s time for some new things, don’t you think?” His eyes are shining, a little happy, a little sad, a little contented. 

 

Mark is watching him, almost as if growing up right before his eyes. So mature, so strong, so  _ right _ . Mark knows he is right, and he can feel the bittersweet highschool-sweetheart young love pain, start to ebb away. They are not teenagers anymore, they are adults, and they should handle this in a mature way, which is what Donghyuck is doing. 

 

“I understand.” Mark says softly. He came here to shout and scream at Donghyuck, but the calming words filled with maturity, have dimmed his fire, and he is accepting the reality of their situation.

 

“But Hyuck,” He says, holding Donghyuck’s gaze. “I want you to know that…...I never meant to hurt you. I….I loved you too. I probably still do. But you are right. It’s time for us to move on.”

  
  


Donghyuck smiles a little. “I’m sorry I never told you much about me. That’s one of my biggest regrets. Perhaps if I shared a little more, it wouldn’t have been so unbalanced.”

 

Mark shrugs. It’s okay. He feels like he can live with that. “Maybe someday, you’ll tell me.” 

 

Donghyuck smiles wider, eyes turning into crescents. “Maybe.” 

  
  
  


“Lee Donghyuck! Hurry the hell up, big boy!” A shout calls him, and Renjun is tired of waiting. Donghyuck laughs and rolls his eyes, about to walk away.

 

“Hey, Mark?” He calls the other’s attention. As if he needs to, when Mark is always, always looking, searching for him. 

 

“Hmm?” The other hums in reply. 

 

“How about a goodbye kiss?” Donghyuck suggests cheekily, though on the inside, his heart is tumbling as Mark moves forward, to back him up against the wall, and kiss him full on the lips. 

 

It’s warm, and nice. It lacks the passion they had in their early days, the comforting reassurance whenever the other cried. It lacks the medication to their open wounds from their traumatic past, and it lacks the desperation from the kiss a year ago in the dense forest. But it is enough, a ghost of a promise. They will sort themselves out first, this time around, and maybe, some day, they will find themselves in each other’s arms again. 

  
  


“Don’t forget your worth, Mark Lee. You’re as beautiful as any gem can get.” Donghyuck breathes out, as he touches Mark’s lips once last time. 

 

Mark nods as he presses in for one more last kiss. It’s not sloppy, no tongue, just lips brushing over each other, and it is as sweet as it can get; the conveyance of love, that is strong enough, to let each other go.

 

Donghyuck eventually moves gracefully out of Mark’s proximity, and heads towards the gates, the lowering sun glowing on his tanned skin, which he is now so comfortable in.

  
  
  
  
  


The scissors is sharp as they cut this loose thread, and tie a firm knot. What MaMa doesn’t know, is that the small bud of a new one is formed, and they begin a new line, afresh, from the beginning; one more chance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on [tumblr](https://tenecity.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/tenecty) and scream at me on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me)


	11. EPILOGUE: THE NEXT PAGE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> andddd we have reached the end!! thankyou for everyone who has read this, loved this, commented, and gave kudos! it means so much to me that people love this universe that i spent literally weeks to create and build. this is probably one of the fics that i am most proud of, and to see people loving it as much as i do, makes me so happy and fulfilled.

_**ELEVEN** **———** **EPILOGUE: THE NEXT PAGE** _

 

 

“Ten had expected this. Which is fantastic, because at least, we have some game plan.” Johnny says. He no longer speaks with grief when the other is brought up. Or perhaps, he has just removed himself from those feelings as he stares hard at the map, hands on his hips. 

 

Lines are drawn all over, and the knight pieces Kun has on the table, are settled neatly on the parchment. Yuta is right next to them, fingers running across the lines. 

 

“And yet, we were caught off guard.” Doyoung says, Kun groaning behind him. So many years, and Doyoung still doesn’t know when to say what. 

 

“Right.” Mark says, thoughtful. “They are bloodthirsty….I have never seen more ferocious warriors than those Mongols.” 

 

“They have no human in them.” Sicheng says softly. 

 

“As of last night, the surprise attack has taken about 100 of our men, though we are holding up, we need a game changing plan, before they get to our bases and destroy everything.” Kun reports, rolling the scroll back up. “My King?” He asks, directing the question to Mark. 

 

They have two options. One, close the gates and borders, keeping people as close to the heart of China, far away from the north, and guard whatever they have, or two, they simply face them head on, and attempt pushing them back to where they came from. While the second, is what Mark would like to do, and the first holds the risk of locking themselves in, it will have to do for the time being. It’s safer.

 

Yuta immediately deploys guards to evacuate peasants, Kun working alongside him as they take in the casualties and hand out medical aid. The people are already scurrying towards the capital, and the rich have left hurriedly to foreign lands as the Mongols rapidly gained ground. In less than a month, they have fought until TaiYuan, the palace having to immediately move their capital down towards Chongqing. 

 

Things only got worse when the bitter winter hits, and the Mongols, from the north, so used to the cold, are unfazed by the cutting winds, while the Chinese soldiers are struggling through the snowstorms, barely keeping themselves together as they war against both Mother Nature and those Mongols. 

 

The Mongols, are never seen before. They ride on the purest breeds of horses with brown, shining fur, strong legs, and healthy bodies that can carry the weight of ten kilograms of armour and a heavyweight soldier with more muscles than 3 Chinese men combined. 

 

Their swords are perfect craftsmanship, sharp and accurate, they pierce through bodies with little effort, foot soldiers not even a problem at all. It has Mark kneading his forehead as he watches the knight pieces pushed back and back, towards the borders near Korea, and Southeast Asia, and the knights falling over, left with no more than 10. 

 

They are getting desperate, and Mark decides he will go on the battlefield. Of course, Johnny doesn’t accept any type of refusal and comes along, together with Yuta and Sicheng. This is go big or go home, and they had better go home after this, Doyoung chides with glistening tears, as they send the last of their best men out into the field. 

  
  
  


The horn blows, loud and deep, and with the waving of flags, the first layer of foot soldiers set out against the arrogant Mongolians, who sit high on their horses, laughing. They hardly expect the first layer to set down a shield wall, and for the puny men behind them to fire arrows, tips blazing with flames as they set the horses on fire. 

 

Chaos erupts as the Mongols chant and shout high, charging forward as flames burn the dry grass beneath them, the winter thawing. Their fur coats high up their faces to cover their ashamed looks, as they spear unceasingly into the foot soldiers. 

 

The next layer comes out, and the swords clash as fanciful and skilled moves are shown, with soldiers jumping horses to avoid any mishap. The horses are getting terrified as they neigh and raise high, nearly throwing their riders off their backs. With the horses out of the way, the foot soldiers regain ground as they bravely engage in battle with the skillful Mongols. And yet, bravery can never exceed talent and pure aptitude, and they lie sprawled on the burning grass, crimson staining the rich earth.

 

The last layer, before their Emperor and the generals, charge out, and they give a good fight, but it is not enough. Mark can already identify Genghis Khan, with his dark feathered helmet, and sharp face that show no sign of retreat or shame. He knows he is winning, and there is a smirk on his face as he charges forward, spear out. 

 

The King’s own bodyguards are forced to retreat together with the Emperor. Forget about winning, they need to survive. But in their panic, they take the wrong turn, and they reach the edge of a tethering cliff. They can’t jump to the other end, if that is possible, as Mongols, panting, with blood stains on their clothes, are hungry and out for their blood. 

 

Johnny unsheathes his sword and launches forward as he takes on five Mongols at once. They are slightly taken aback at the absolute skill Johnny has as he slices two of them down. Yuta takes this opportunity, and fires darts at them, while Sicheng, at the tip of rock, rapidly reaches behind him to reload his arrow. 

 

Lucas’ eyes are sharp and hard as he snarls at the incoming Mongols. He throws his heart and soul into it, slashing bodies, and mercilessly slicing necks, with an elbow or two in the wounds for extra effort. It leaves Mark no choice, but to fend himself, as he effortlessly swings his sword, clank of metal heard, as the Mongol is thrown back at the mere force. 

 

There is, but less than ten of them, against more than thirty Mongols. They are severely outnumbered, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see his adoptive father clenching his side as he holds on to his last breath, sinking the sword into one last enemy, before collapsing into the ground, blood seeping through his fingers. 

 

Yuta is cornered into a tree at the edge of the cliff, and a sword at his neck is what ends him, as he slumps against the bark, darkening the brown with rusty red. Sicheng is thrown off the cliff, and his arrows taken. With a small dagger as his only defense, as his sword was thrown off long ago, he is ended equally quickly. 

 

Lucas is panicking at this point and he waves his sword wildly. A panicked soldier is no good, and the Mongols laugh as they slice through his body, just a tad bit short of his heart, as if enjoying that he die a slow death. 

 

Mark is breathless as he puts himself in the defense position, hand out, eyes darting at the closing circle before him. Behind him, is the chasm, water thunderous as they fall from the high cliff. 

 

Something catches at the corner of his eye, and he sees a trembling finger. His eyes desperately trace upwards, to the barely moving lips of his adoptive father. Johnny is gripping hard to the last threads of his life. He is muttering the same word, over and over again, and Mark can just barely make out what he says. But he does. And he obeys. 

 

_ “Jump.” _

  
  
  
  
  
  


He can barely hear the shouts over the rushing waters in his ears, and the impact has him breathless and needing for air. The Mongols are shouting and asking what to do, complete chaos. Mark tries to calm his palpitating heart as he tries to manoeuvre his numb arms. He can feel a vague sting on his forehead, and suddenly everything is rushing, there is no air, his vision is turning black, and his heart is light as with his head. 

 

Behind his eyelids, he vaguely sees an image of Donghyuck, with flowers in his hand, asking how he is. And he is smiling, laughing, light, floating, white currents swooping him down, towards its depths. 

  
  


There is nothing in the darkness, but faint memories fleeting. He can almost smell the burning air of his old home, see the eyes of his masters, hear the snarls of Jeno, the pleas of Jaemin. He can almost feel the warmth and the smell of the soup Ah Ma always cooked, her soothing voice calling out to him. He can just touch the fabric of Ten’s clothes, and fall into his embrace, Johnny right by his King’s side. It’s been a long time since he saw such happiness and content on his father’s face. 

 

And then, he can almost feel the brush of Donghyuck’s lips against his, the traces against his skin, the lilting laughter and melodious voice, comforting him in the darkness. It is telling him to  _ get up, get up, get up _ , and he chuckles as Donghyuck’s forehead is pressed against his, warm and soaked in the sun; so, so beautiful, always,  _ his Haechan _ .

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


\-------

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“For goodness sake, will it  _ kill _ you to not bicker for one minute?” Taeil says, exasperated as Chenle and Jisung glare at each other. 

 

“But Uncle Taeil,” Chenle whines. “I swear I saw something there! Jisung is just blind and lazy.” Jisung rolls his eyes. “Am  _ not. _ It might just be the water reflecting the light, Lele.”

 

Taeil closes his eyes as he sits back onto his hammock, closing his eyes. One day.  _ One _ day is all he asks, for the two to keep his mouth shut. He has no idea why the  _ benevolent _ Jungwoo would take them in, but for the love of the local physician, he will bear with it. 

 

“Go see what it is. Play with the water. Disturb Uncle Jungwoo. _ I _ want to sleep.” He waves them off, Chenle pulling Jisung by the wrist as the younger grudgingly follows along. 

  
  
  
  


Just as he drifts off, there is panicked shouting and gibberish spewing from Chenle’s mouth, and from what he gathers, it’s something very serious. As much as he would like to sleep in, he is scrambling out of his hammock and running back to the house, just in time to bring Jungwoo out. 

 

They rush down, and they see the body on the beach, a golden pin glimmering in the sunlight, the boys waving wildly as they shout, “A pulse! Jisungie’s got a pulse!” 

  
  
  
  


_ “He’s alive!”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> scream at me on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me) and follow me on [tumblr](https://tenecity.tumblr.com/) and/or [twitter](https://twitter.com/tenecty)
> 
> as you can already guess, the last fic set in this universe is a direct continuation from this fic: [If I ever get lost](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17257106/chapters/40581737)

**Author's Note:**

> for some odd reason, my first chapters are always so damn LONG
> 
>  
> 
> I FORGOT TO ADD THIS AT THE START BUT 'Sayang' is a Malay word for saying like sweetheart? idk it's just an affectionate term. 'Ah Ma' is an affectionate Chinese word for grandmother


End file.
